Once more it’s the middle of the night, and I’m awake after only three hours of sleep with a body temperature of about 110 degrees. And even though I should try to go back to sleep, what I usually do instead, is first adjust the damn thermostat to make sure it’s as cold as possible, then watch television. My theory on that has been that if I’m not working—or staring at a computer screen with the blue light—then my brain won’t be as engaged, and I’ll have a better shot to get sleepy. But now, (damn you, science), they are saying the yellow-ish night mode on your computer could keep you awake too. Why the hell does life require so much research! So eff it, I’m back on the computer and writing a blog.
I stood at the grocery store today and examined every single label on the back of peanut butter—and other nut butters—trying to figure out which are the best and worst for you. I was even talking to Suri and fast-scanning articles on oils and other shit. And after about ten frustrating minutes and determining that I should just never eat anything ever again, I left with a selection of over-priced single-serving packets and a huge jar of Skippy for the kid. Yes, Jiff is temporarily off the shelves, which is why I went down this culinary wormhole to begin with.
I love peanut butter. It probably explains a lot about my health issues. Should I be totally honest? Will you shame me if I tell you the truth? (Insert big, brave inhale), I had a PB&J every day of my life for about 30 years. There. I said it. What? How is that possible. It’s my go-to. All seems right with the world and tum-tum after downing one of those bad boys. But incredible as this may sound, I’ve aged, and am reconsidering this choice, breaking down the components and trying to elevate the health quotient of each.
The bread. Screw you for that eye roll. Yes, I still eat bread, Tracey. But now, I hate myself with every single bite. Are you happy? When making a PB&J, I used to just use white bread. Grew up on it. Tastes damn good and I suppose it has a mental hold on me now too. Like nothing can compare. No other bread can compete in a way because it won’t be that first love, that warm bankie, that feeling of . . . if I’m eating a PBJ—how bad can things really be?
Back to bread. When whole wheat became a thing—I tried it, but kind of didn’t see the point. Then more science and actual facts somehow made their way past the marketing gate-keepers-of-all-the-crap-food-we eat, and into the mainstream where we started to learn more about food.
Whole grain is what you should be looking for—not whole wheat. What? Then flax appeared. Ok. Then carb counting. Sure. That’s when I got hooked on the 35 calories a slice Italian bread made of air and sugar. Wait, I need to be checking the sugar in the bread? That’s when I started eating more rye and sourdough. But the carbs were still there. Which turns into sugar?
Look, I don’t have it figured out. (isn’t it obvious?) And I’m not a freaking doctor (don’t you know that?), so don’t take my research and/or medical advice to heart (What’s wrong with you for making me say that?). But I’m trying. Kind of. Sometimes I eliminate the jam and go with honey. Yes, I need to do more research on the merits of that one. Gawd. Then I heard cinnamon was really good, so now to get my fix, I go with a piece of toast with peanut butter, honey, and cinnamon. Sometimes I use a flax wrap. And I got to say, it’s not bad. But there is still a lot of guilt with the P part.
Vegetable oil is apparently made for machinery and not the human body. God, I’m bored.
I’m going back to bed now to watch tv, encouraging my brain to just shut up and shut down. And while tucked back in, probably watching more of the original Dynasty, I’ll try not to think about how good a PB&P would be. No typo. P is for pickles. That sandwich is freaking awesome too. But best on white bread with Jiff.
Jiff . . . why are you so good.