Dear Goober P&J,

You once were a delectable seductress, to me.

I realize, now, that I have taken you for granted these past few years. I can have you whenever I please now that I make the sandwiches and buy the groceries. Getting you is no longer a challenge and that’s slightly depressing.

I was a young peanut that never tasted jelly. Well, to be accurate, jelly and PB together in the same bread housing. Mothers look out for what’s best for their children and mine was on a quest to shield us from the horrors of intertwined legume paste and jammed grapes. Instead, she supplied us with ham sandwiches with meat slices thicker than the bread that contained them. I enviously glare at my friends with PB&J sandwiches in their lunch, during the moments when I swallowed my bite; my eyes were closed during the chewing phase in order to maximize jaw strength needed to tear through the two by fours of pork.

I asked for a PB&J on so many different occasions and was greeted with the same answer: “No. That’s nasty; peanut butter and jelly together.”

Defeated, I squinted hard and took another bite of my half a swine sandwich. My jaws were practically bodybuilder competition ready.

Do you remember the lustful looks I would give you at the store? There you were, the definition of what I, at that time, thought was food perfection. PB with swirls of J, all conveniently settled in the same glass jar. Those stripes of purple on you were especially becoming. Yet, every request to take you home was promptly rejected with a vicious mist of saliva and heart break.

Then it happened. Grandmothers are wonderful. They are especially wonderful as the usurpers of parent law. My Grandmother opened her refrigerator and I caught a glimpse of your sexy glass in the shelf on the door. I relaxed my shoulders, feigned confidence, and made my move.

“Abuelita, can I have some of that?”

She obliged, took out the jar and put you in between some white bread. No one I knew actually ate wheat bread in those days. I didn’t even actually know what wheat bread was or that it existed. Years later, we’re still together and happy as ever.

I took a bite. It’s difficult to describe that first chew but, I will give it my best shot. The first chew was akin to biting a Unicorn’s rear, only to find that said Unicorn was made of Caramellos and warm chocolate chip cookies where the chip is slightly crunchy around the edge yet, moist and chewy in the center. I had a food boner and I didn’t even know what one was yet.

Typing this letter, and that last description, makes me realize that I need to appreciate you more. My mother eventually found out about us; five minutes after I finished you. You became a regular staple in my brown bag lunches, afterwards. Now that I’m older, I’ve tried numerous variations –PB & Banana is my current favorite. You were my first, though, and none will ever take your place in my heart.

Typing this letter also makes me realize that PB&J gets me uncomfortably hypersexual. The reason is probably best left unexplored.

Jellightfully yours,

Adriel