I have to admit – as much as I love trying new recipes – there are times when nothing quite compares to the satisfying goodness of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Some days there's just no time for chopping, grilling, or baking and a classic PB & J is the perfect solution.
According to Smuckers, no one really knows when or where this sandwich was first created. Bread and jelly have been around for ages, but peanut butter wasn't invented until 1890. This spreadable creation was a hit at the 1904 World's Fair in St. Louis, and during the 1920s and 1930s, commercial brands of peanut butter such as Peter Pan and Skippy were introduced. Around the same time, pre-sliced bread became common in the U.S. But there's no mention of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before the 1940s.
The National Peanut Board reports that the average kid eats 1,500 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before graduating from high school. They're not just for kids – I've often been on airline flights, when a waft of peanut butter drifts my way, and I turn to see some business exec pull out a Ziploc bag from a briefcase and enjoy a pb & j out – much to the envy of fellow passengers. You can also take comfort in knowing you're helping to save the planet!
Ask any New Orleanian where to get the best po-boy in the city and
almost every single one will tell you to go to a different place.
Po-Boy restaurants are as much a part of personal identity as the
neighborhood you grew up in – like a family heirloom, po-boy preference
is often handed down from generation to generation. And while die-hard
patrons of Parasol's refuse that anywhere else makes as good of a roast
beef po-boy, those who are loyal to Mother's will tell you that their
roast beef debris simply can't be beat. And who could forget Ye Olde
College Inn – a New Orleans staple.
I don't know if Mae West ever ate a Cobb Salad, but I bet she would
have loved it. After all, she was the one who said "too much of a good
thing is wonderful". A Cobb Salad begins with a bed of Romaine lettuce,
think of it as your basic crunchy blank canvas.
Resting on the greens are strips of toppings – luscious chunks of
avocado, juicy fresh tomato, crumbles of rich blue cheese, hard boiled
eggs and chunks of chicken breast. Frankly I've always found the
chicken to be superfluous, but maybe that's just me.
It's hard to believe that baseball season is about to begin again. I
see bits and pieces on the news about players reporting to Spring
training. I see photos of fathers and sons dressed up in their player's
favorite jersey, watching an early practice, hoping to get an
autograph. The excitement is building of those summer nights at the
ballpark; that all-American warm, fuzzy feeling most folks associate
with baseball.
I have a vivid memory of my parents entertaining friends on Christmas
Eve in 1982. My mother threw all of her Protestant tradition out the
kitchen window and ordered Zingerman’s pastrami on rye sandwiches with giant garlic
pickles. I was enthralled by this rebellion at age six, although I had no
understanding of what pastrami was. I just knew it was special.
