Pictured: Parisien Catriona holding the city’s only legitimately French offering to be found!
One of the reasons it says on the About page that I’ve eaten peanut butter ‘almost’ every day since I was 3 is the occasional times I’ve been on holiday. Usually I would take some with me, but it wasn’t always possible, and having gone over to France a good few times, I knew it was nowhere to be found.
So, arriving in Paris, I set about checking every supermarket I passed in search of PB. I know from past experiences that Europeans can’t seem to do it well. (Serbia made a particularly poor effort). Unfortunately in central Paris there is no enormous ‘hypermarkets’ which is usually where niche products are to be found, so I knew this would be a task. I searched high and low, with no luck apart from the occasional imported section which harboured a well-known fugitive – Sun Pat. Unbelievable!
Then, on my second day, I ventured down an unknown road on a quiet stroll to ‘pass the time’ (hunt for PB) and came upon a health food shop. Aha! I strode in innocently. “Bonjour”, I said in a bright, terrible French accent. The checkout girl matched my greeting, and my entry was secured. I walked slowly in, looking this way and that, before my trained eyes set upon the spreads. I scoured the shelves and…. there it was. Hiding under a yellow lid, Rapunzel’s ‘American Style Beurre De Cacahuette’ called out to me from the bottom shelf. Pale and anaemic from being hidden away out of the sunlight, it called to be to be rescued. The ransom; €3.59 for 250g. A high price to pay, but I had instructions from the World Of Peanut Butter HQ to retrieve it at any cost. I walked briskly to the checkout. “C’est tout?” the employee interrogated me. She also included some other words which my French understanding was not good enough for, so I used the universal ‘thumbs up’ to avoid suspicion and handed over the money. I was free.
Back home, Rapunzel sat upon the counter like a freed prisoner of war.
“Ils m’Ont gardé en captivité, je ne faisais que donner une petite portion de cacahuètes (91%), et aucun français n’est jamais venu me sauver” it croaked. I stoically dug the knife in to end the pain.
Dry, but in a waxy way, this PB really had been deprived. It spread obediently, unable to resist any more torture. I took the bite.
My mouth traversed the seasons and became winter. There was no other word for it; cold. Not so much in temperature, but a lack of love and pale complexion so strong it almost made me weep. I could hear the funeral orchestra, with violins lapping against my taste buds as the mourners stood in the rain. The salty tears came through in the flavour, with the overwhelming feeling that this PB never really had a chance anyway. Even laid on a coffin of exquisitely fresh French bakery bread (I toasted one half of it, for the full effect), there was nothing to be done.
I took the last bite, finished my tea, and walked away, my head bowed.
Saltysweet scale – 2
Texture – Waxy, Cold, Mournful.
1.5/10 Henrys
€3.59/£2.97) for 250g jar (€1.43/£1.18 per 100g) from Naturalia.
World Of Peanut Butter & Beer 