Peanuts and salt. These are the only ingredients I should be accepting in my peanut butter. If you know anything about me you know I eat clean most of the time, so by all accounts only peanuts and salt should prevail in my world.
But alas, there is Jif. Jif Peanut Butter, preferred by choosy moms everywhere, is the peanut butter for me. I know to you it may seem like the lowliest form of the legume, but it is so easy to eat. I love the flavor and texture as well, but it has come down to convenience. Open the jar, slap it on, and you’re out.
I have tried so hard to like natural peanut butter. I’ve sampled virtually all of them. I like the taste, and don’t even mind the grittiness so much, but in the end I just can’t take the time to deal with it. The careful opening of the lid…the frantic wiping to avoid the inevitable gloppy oil drips over the top and down the sides. Then there is the stirring. The never. Ending. Stirring. And in the end, it’s a huge waste of time because you know you’ll be forced to repeat this grisly process every time you want even one tablespoon of the stuff.
So there, the secret is out. I eat crappy peanut butter and I’m OK with it. Not to say it will always be this way. When they invent a natural peanut butter jar with an electric mixer or a triathlete gerbil built into the lid, I’ll be in.
See My Natural Ally, a continuation of the peanut butter saga.