Greedy Friends #2: A life in peanut butter

by Patrick Fitzgerald

A life in peanut butter

Some weeks ago I responded to Eggsand’s Instagram story in which she had posted a photo of a banana rolled up in bread, ensconced with peanut butter. I sent her a photo from the meme archives depicting a hot dog bun with a banana in it, flanked by peanut butter and jam. This was called a ‘PBnJ Glizzy’. In true American fashion ‘glizzy’ is both slang for a gun and a hot dog. Easy to get them confused, I know. 

This silly photo set off a cascade of food memories. I realised that, in its trashy brilliance, the food that truly carried me through my childhood, and still does a lot of the heavy-lifting in early-adulthood, is peanut butter! So here we go: a tour of all things peanut butter, all things me.

1. Celery and Peanut Butter

Until I was seven, I lived in California. A snack I had a lot as a child was peanut butter and celery. Either it was prepared for me on a plate, little celery halves with a smear of smooth peanut butter, or I would dip the celery stick straight into the peanut butter after each bite (much to the chagrin of those around me). The light peppery crunch of a celery stick is deliciously contrasted by the salty, fatty peanut butter. Yes, a gourmet from a young age, I was. 

It is a wonderful treat that I still enjoy now, but with crunchy peanut butter instead because I am an adult. Most Brits reading this are probably thinking ‘keep that disgusting paring to yourself, you horrible man’ and it is worth saying that I have yet to convince anyone here of its merit. However, recently my (American) girlfriend not only nonchalantly acquiesced to its tastiness; she raised me one with ‘Ants on a Log'.

To make ‘Ants on a Log’, fill the celery valley with crunchy peanut butter and dot with raisins.

2. Goober (All Things Jam)

Most of my close friends roll their eyes when I say to someone ‘I actually used to live in America’; they start frothing at the mouth if I begin to lay claim to some sort of American identity. I’ve got the passport, I used to have the accent and I’m a quarter American. Take that, you jealous fucks. 

Of course I will admit it; I romanticise the whole affair. In reality, I am very British. But I cherish memories of hot sidewalks, gushing American accents, open space, blue skies and syrupy sweet food. My father, an academic, lived in the states for nearly two decades before he started a family. My brother, sister and I then spent seven years in sun-kissed California until an offer for a professorship at a good university came through and just like that, we swapped the blue skies for grey ones. At the time, I thought the British cruel, harsh and completely corrupted. I still do, I just count myself in that camp too. Much of my Americanness was eroded by the London way-of-things, and peanut butter became one of the few things that connected me to this fast disappearing identity.

Sporadically, my father would return to the US to visit friends and attend  conferences. The greatest excitement upon his return was not the reassuring presence of a stable male role model in the house, no, but the fructose and e-number soaked goodies with which he had loaded his hold luggage. These are now fairly ubiquitous in the UK with the onslaught of ‘American candy’ shops that have proliferated in central London (a thinly-disguised money laundering operation). Ten/fifteen years ago it was much harder to come across Smuckers Goober Jam. It is a large jar of incredibly processed smooth, sticky peanut butter,striped by even more processed grape ‘jelly’. It is fundamentally anti-English in its unification of disparate spreads into one easy jar. It’s tea-time made easier, better, BIGGER. 

A couple of years ago my flatmate and I discovered it was being sold at our local Lidl. We ransacked the joint and completely overdid it. In a grape fuelled haze we sickened ourselves on the stuff, eventually just eating it straight out the jar. We even have matching t-shirts from that era, in homage to the great Smuckers treat. It truly is so dementedly sweet and moreish, it shouldn’t be allowed.

For me, the English twist on this American classic is the best sandwich.  Simply spread crunchy peanut butter with good raspberry jam (seeds n all). It is indulgent and a little more classy than its American counterpart. Add butter for decadence.

3. Fool’s Gold Loaf

When I was fifteen I read about Elvis Presly and a restaurant in Denver, Colorado called the ‘Colorado Mine Company’ that made something called a ‘Fool’s Gold Loaf’. It is the stuff of legend. Elvis was such a fan that one evening, on an excited whim, he flew himself and a motley crew on a private jet to Denver. They were greeted by no less than twenty two of these monstrous ‘sandwiches’, which they drank with champagne in an airport hangar. When I tell you the contents, you can understand how the man might have died on the toilet.

The Fool’s Gold Loaf is a hollowed out loaf of bread, filled with peanut butter, jelly and lots and lots of bacon. And yes, I have made it. My schoolfriend, H, and I had an explorative and ever-so-slightly dangerous curiosity for anything novel; in plain English, from the age of twelve onwards we loved to get fucked up. Our teenage years progressed and so did this desire, becoming more and more exotic and specialised in its designs (think obscure chemicals, weird psychedelics and pharmaceuticals). The Fool’s Gold Loaf fit perfectly into our love of hedonistic and extreme experiences (in other words, on the spectrum between the childish and exotic).

Cut a white crusty loaf of bread lengthwise and scoop out all the doughy flesh on the inside so you are left with two crusty boats. Next, cook a huge amount of streaky bacon, making sure it gets crispy. Then, smear an entire jar of peanut butter in one boat, an entire jar of jam in the other (the sweeter the better). Here’s the kicker: sandwich the two halves on top of each other with all the crispy bacon in the middle. Push it down so the loaf ‘closes’ and yes, butter the crust. Bake it until the outside is golden.

Eating this was no small feat. We pushed ourselves to consume the entire thing and it had such a powerful effect on me I will never forget it. Calorically it was the equivalent of about two days of food, in one sitting. It was as powerful a high as any drug; the sugar and fat had us soaring for a moment and then we had an almighty crash, (‘lower than whale shit’ as they say) in which we could barely speak or move and both of our heads hurt so bad that we parted company pretty quickly.

Despite this intense experience, one of my favourite breakfasts is an homage. Make a classic peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich and put two slices of very crispy bacon in the middle. More modest, yes, but still indulgent. Substitute the jam for a healthy dose of maple syrup if you want something even naughtier.

4. Salty on salty

When I was young my uncle insisted that I try butter and peanut butter together. I didn’t like it then, it felt excessive. Now, I can’t get enough. A bit of butter seems to boost the sweetness of the peanut butter. It elevates it’s creaminess too. If you have a dastardly sweet tooth like mine, it’s a great option for something akin to a dessert when your fridge, freezer and cupboard is bereft of options. 

Another incredible salt-on-salt discovery that unlocks an umami-rich sweetness is marmite and peanut butter. Recently, this depraved combination has been validated by the wider market as Marmite released a blend that is available in supermarkets. One of the reasons I love the combination is because it reminds me of my childhood. No, not the sunny American one, the grey English one. Some toast with half melted peanut butter and pockets, nay pools, of thick marmite help me reclaim a drab memory from my primary school and turn it into something joyous…

One of the stalwarts of my lunch box at primary school (Froob/fruit winder, apple, cheese-string and sandwich) were sandwiches that my mother made for me. She used to make bread in a bread maker that we appropriately called ‘mama’s bread’. It was a simple, thick and dry brown loaf. It was very dense. To her defense, it was transformed when toasted with butter. But these sandwiches were a penitent affair; lightly coated in a meager amount of margarine and an equally cautious helping of marmite. Sometimes we had peanut butter ones too. By lunchtime the moisture from the spreads would have soaked into the bread, bonding the two slices into a bready cake with this ghostly filling. It was oddly comforting (maybe that’s just in retrospect) but it certainly wasn’t indulgent. A peanut butter and marmite sandwich now brings me back to those moments, sat on a hot tarmac playground jealously eyeing up the glamourous contents of my peers’ lunchboxes. The savoury saltiness of marmite creates a strange sweetness in the peanut butter. It’s lip-smacking, complex and wonderfully delicious.

5. ‘Nut’ Butters

Now, to address other nut butters I need to tell a sad story: a story of deprivation; a story of lack; a story of a sickness that affected a household. Most of all, a story of secrets. This is the story of an ex-girlfriend and her flatmate who had a peanut allergy. Not only could the flatmate not eat nuts (I know, I know, so sad) but just being around them would cause her throat to close up.

This was the real tragedy. Peanut butter was a no go. Instead we had to eat almond butter… Sickly sweet, bitty, burnt and incredibly dry; I don’t like it. It was slightly ameliorated with some butter underneath it on some bread, but ultimately it taught me that almond butter, cashew butter and so on couldn’t come close to touching peanut butter. 

But the secret was that underneath my ex’s bed, wrapped up in several plastic bags, was a kilo of Pip ‘n’ Nut peanut butter. Whenever said flatmate was away for more than a day we would take it out and eat clandestine spoons of it. You couldn’t even take it into the kitchen for fear of contamination and judgement from the others. In this flat, loving peanut butter felt like an illicit penchant that was unfairly persecuted. And a forbidden pleasure only makes you love it more.

6. Peanut butter Noodles

By now, you are thinking: wow, Patrick has really just rambled on about different things he likes to have with peanut butter. What a reductive palate. What a child. But the funny thing about peanut butter is that in the west it occupies a very reductive space in the pantry as something you have on bread as a snack. But in the East you’re much more likely to find peanuts mixed with a lot of the salty/sweet/umami flavours I like to add to peanut butter (and most people would balk at). You wouldn’t balk at s0me satay chicken, would you – hypocrites! Anyway, this is a lovely dish that I regularly make.It centres around peanut butter and has a lot of Thai flavours. It either works as a creamy Thai cold noodle dish or a refreshing rice dish.

In a bowl combine two spoons of peanut butter, sesame oil, a whole lime, some Chinese rice vinegar, a few dashes of fish sauce, ground white pepper, a little grated ginger, minced garlic and honey or soft palm sugar. For spice add some Chiu Chow Chilli Oil. For extra funk you can add a little oyster sauce too. Mix it all into a sauce. If you want it thick and creamy for the noodles I would avoid it becoming too liquid-y. If you want it more of a thick sauce I suggest adding some stock and a little cornflour.

Take a cucumber and chop it lengthwise, into thin strips. Chop a whole bunch of spring onions very fine. My favourite noodles for this are the ones without egg, where they come packed, chewy already and only need heating or liquid to separate (packed udon, kalguksoo noodles) but any will do. Prepare the noodles and cool. Coat the cold noodles in the sauce, add the cucumber, spring onions, lots of fresh coriander, a spoon or two of peanuts in chilli oil (Laoganma) or peanut Rayu. This can all be transferred to some fluffy white basmati rice too. You can add whatever you want to this: some fresh silken tofu, cooked chicken, mangetout, sesame seeds and so on. The creamy sweet and sour sauce with the noodles I think is perfectly balanced out with the crunchy and cold cucumber.

7. Peanut butter cookies

Ok, back to sweet indulgent things. Last September I went up to Scotland with my band to record an entire album over two weeks in the most remote studio in the UK, on an island off the mainland of the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides. 

We worked intensely and constantly on the album. Cooking and food became one of the primary ways we relaxed and took our minds off the music for a second. During this period I took it upon myself to become head baker. It was, in part, to help boost morale in those tense and low moments (a bit of sugar never goes amiss) but to be honest, it was something to focus on to keep me sane too. I became so obsessed with baking that it became a sort of running joke that I was trying to derail the whole project.

As head baker I had to cater to a lot of vegan and vegan-adjacent diets but the nearest shop was a forty-five minute drive away and I didn’t have vegan dark chocolate or anything like that. So, of course, peanut butter became the main vegan cookie vehicle. I made batches and batches of peanut butter cookies, they were easy and delicious.

Since you’re not reading this (I assume) from a remote location with limited resources, I’m going to jazz up the original recipe.

In a bowl combine the dry: 225g plain white flour, ¾ tsp bicarb soda, ½ tsp baking soda.

In another bowl beat 115g unsalted butter (vegan butter/vegetable oil if going vegan) with 220g light brown sugar and 100g granulated sugar. Do this until incorporated and fluffy. Add 60g of peanut butter, one egg and a dash of vanilla extract. (Put a little more baking powder instead of egg if going vega).

Slowly mix the dry into the wet until it forms a dough. Shape into evenly-sized balls and then roll in granulated sugar. Get them cold AF in the fridge (speed mode, freezer). Then bake ‘em at 180C for roughly 15 minutes. Make sure they cool completely before eating.

Optional additions

• A few teaspoons of white miso when you add the peanut butter (trust me)

• White chocolate chips goes well with and without the miso.

• Swirl some nutella into the mixture at the end.

• Press your thumb into the cookies a little on the baking tray, and spoon some jam into the little well.