Crunchy peanut Once Again.
I just Googled “peanut butter addiction.” Yes, that’s right. I have a problem.
A couple of weeks ago, after polishing off yet another jar of the stuff (with a spoon, as usual), I decided to institute a strict Jar-Of-The-Month Nut Butter Initiative. What does this mean? At the beginning of each month, I am entitled (yes, entitled) to one jar of nut butter for the next four week’s enjoyment. Once the jar is eaten (read: has vanished without a trace), there will be no more nut buttering until the crowning of a new month. Pretty straightforward and, not to mention, pretty generous. To give you some context for this kind of decision making: a couple months back, after housing a box of (peanut butter-flavored) granola bars and a six-pack of bananas, I decided I was addicted to sugar and sweeteners; in response, I cut sugar and sweeteners out of my diet cold turkey — and I haven’t looked back since. It was a good break-up — a smart one. And I’ve never ever felt healthier or happier than I do now.
But say good-bye to peanut butter and almond butter and cashew butter and sunflower seed butter? No, impossible. They’re too wonderful. They make me too happy. And there are so many varieties I haven’t tried yet — in fact, I spied a jar of walnut butter just the other day and had to do a double take. (Be still my heart. I’ll be back for you, Baby.)
Homemade sweet-free almond frozen yogurt, drizzled with almond butter and sprinkled with cacao nibs and — yup, more almonds.
In general, I eat a lot of nuts and seeds, and they’re all delicious and important to me, each in their own way. But there’s nothing that does it for me quite like the thick, gloppy, mucilaginous
paste of a stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth peanut butter. I’m talking can’t-talk-because-your-mouth-is-too-full-of-peanut-butter levels of peanut butter. The greater the encumbrance, the greater my happiness.