We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
We promised that we would bring the Dylanologist, who is stationed in Rome for the summer, a supply of peanut butter. I guess the Italians don't have it. It's their loss. You would think the southern Italians would get sick of tomato sauce. I am, for sure. They would quickly learn to appreciate a PB&J on white.
Fortunately, they do not use much pasta or really any tomato sauce in northern Italy where I am headed tomorrow.
Despite the glories of Italian (non-pasta) cuisine, sometimes a fellow just needs some peanut butter - and not the unpleasant organic kind. Skippy's ultra-chunky always hits the spot. I will squeeze two large things of it into my bag for the guy.
Hope Italian Customs doesn't give me a hard time for this act of smuggling. After all, it would be easy to suffocate somebody with a face full of Skippy's Creamy.
It is amazing the things I crave when I'm marooned overseas for any great length of time. Stuff I normally wouldn't eat - OK, seldom eat - here at home. Eskimo pies. Milk Duds. Dairy Queen burgers. And Adams peanut butter.
(I sense a peanut butter and pickle sandwich on toast in my immediate future...)
I prefer Jif, but would find any American PB a luxury when I am in Romania and Hungary. Sometimes an American mission team or the Habitat people will have a giant can of industrial, school cafeteria peanut butter, and I ain't too proud to beg.
Assistant Village Idiot
Veal wrapped around prochiuto, and mozzarella with garlic, and olive oil.Stuffed calamari,linguine with clam sauce. PBand J on white bread is much better. You gringos don't know how to eat. Pasta is still served up north, usually in a white sauce or a broth.
In both places, the food (among other things) was outstanding. But in Spain -- oh Lord. At 9:20 p.m. my husband and I were the only people in the restaurant for dinner, and by that time we were half drunk from tippling at a cafe or two throughout the evening.
I loved almost everything about Spain except for the hours .....
Smuckers is the brand o' choice here in the PB category. True, you have to mix it with a paint stirrer on an electric drill (haha), but after that it is thrillingly yum and makes the others seem thin, oily and way too salty. No brickbats please. Raspberry jam on top is deeply moving. PB and salsa on crackers is not half bad, either. Now about the pasta situation in Northern Italy. True they don't favor "red gravy" as in the south, but they do serve pasta for the primo course in people's houses in the north. Not drenched in oil or big goopy sauce, but buttered and herbed. Restaurants have it, but it is not considered as wonderful as risotto there.
When I worked overseas, the only American food I missed was peanut butter. But there were compensations. Such as cheap and abundant mangoes- not available in US markets at the time. Four small mangoes for five cents US in Bolivia. Another compensation: the tomatoes in Argentina were handled in sanitary conditions, so you could eat them uncooked. They were also much more tasty than what was available in US supermarkets at the time. A tomato salad with vinegar, olive oil and crushed garlic- a taste delight.
I had kind of a really reverse hankering this morning. I was down on the Savannah River with one of my good friends, Captain Mike Stoddard of Moran Tugs, when his cook brought up a plate of fried egg, bacon, tomato, cheese on white bread sandwiches. Used to have those in SEA over 40 years ago.