The Big PB&J Sandwich
Greetings, one & all. Thanks for taking a few moments out of this busy day to read my ramblings. Today, the subject is something, that anyone who knows me personally can attest, that is near & dear to me. Peanut butter & jelly sandwiches.
I have loved PB&J for as long as I can remember. Mom made the comment yesterday that she is amazed that I eat real food now. All I ever used to eat was PB&J sandwiches. No chili. No Spanish rice. No Sweet potato casserole, etc.
Every body can make a PB&J out of two slices of bread. Some only use one. I routinely used three. It was sort of a PB&J club sandwich of sorts. Once the two sliced sandwich is made, you put a coat of peanut butter on the top slice of bread, then jelly another slice. Viola, club sandwich. Dad even made a few of these for me.
You may think, what's the big deal about a sandwich with three slices of bread? That's not a big sandwich. Those triple deckers have nothing to do with the story today. The big PB&J sandwich had eight (count 'em eight) slices of bread. It was a feat of modern engineering.
It's hard enough to make the three slice sandwich since the peanut butter tends to make the jelly slice under it slide. Imagine doing it five more times. Just for fun, take a loaf of bread, and count how high that sandwich would be. Then try to imagine PB&J between each slice. Wowsa.
You may think, "Sure, you can build a monstrosity like that, but how could anyone eat it?" I was a teen-age boy at the time. There is a reason they have the reputation of being eating machines. Eat it I did, all by my self. Sure, it was messy, but it sure was good.
I haven't done anything like this since I've been married. When you're a kid, you don't ponder the grocery bill. Now that the grocery bill is mine, I have a totally different outlook.