The Gratitude Chronicle D.3.2013

grilled pb & honey sandwich

A long, long, time ago, a Ginger and her Uncle sat in the kitchen, mulling over what to make for an early dinner.

Meal times with Uncle were always an exciting affair. After all, he was the culinary genius behind making Sloppy Joes using whatever condiment happened to be available (if the Tabasco didn’t taste right, just add more ketchup!).

Uncle looked through the cupboards, opened the refrigerator door and asked, “How ’bout grilled peanut butter sandwiches?”

“REALLY?!” squeaked the Ginger incredulously, having never heard of this before and since she was a picky eater, peanut butter just so happened to be a major food group at the time.

“Yep, and you can even pick what kind of jam you want! Look, there’s strawberry, grape, oh, and some apple butter.”

The Ginger mulled over her options for about 3 secs and grabbed the jar of strawberry jam.

Uncle handed her the peanut butter and a slice of bread, and watched as she carefully spread the Super Chunk (her favorite) and dumped a glob of jam on top. When she handed it over to him, he squished the other slice on the mound of goop, slathered both sides with Country Crock margarine, and promptly tossed it in a hissing skillet.

“The cool thing about making grilled peanut butter sandwiches,” he explained matter-of-factly, “is that you can make single decker, double decker, or even a triple decker if you’re really hungry!”

The Ginger’s eyes grew very large as she contemplated the infinite possibilities and meaning of the Universe, then blurted excitedly, “Can you do that with Patty Melts? Grandma LOVES those!”

Needless to say, the entire world of sandwiches opened up for the Ginger after that. However, on the many nights she arrived home to an empty refrigerator after a long day of work, her favorite single decker grilled (Adams) Super Chunk peanut butter and (locally produced Colorado) Honey (on Dave’s Killer 21 Whole Grain) still called out to her.

And, as she squishes the other slice of bread on top of the mound of goop, slathers it with Irish Butter and tosses it into the hissing skillet, she thinks of her loving Uncle and smiles.

This is dedicate to my Uncle Tim Keesecker, heckler and burger slinger extraordinaire. xo kg

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