Peanut Butter Money

a tale of bartering for condiments

not suitable for vegetarian use

I am here to tell you (you are welcome) that the airport security check (TSA) considers peanut butter a liquid. I’m not talking about the “natural” kind that you must stir and stir to incorporate the oil floating on the top into the peanut mixture below it. I am talking about Jif Peanut Butter. Creamy, not chunky. They (TSA) confiscated my four-pound jar of Jif at security check in Omaha, Nebraska. My fault - the “liquid” contraband was tucked into my carryon luggage. Because silly me -I didn’t realize it was a liquid. I mean, the concept is gross - liquid peanut butter? Wouldn’t we then call it peanut butter syrup? I don’t get it.

The adventurous of us love what is unfamiliar - especially if it tastes good. You won’t find me jumping out of an airplane, but trying new condiments in a new country is extremely exciting for me and how I live life dangerously. Here in Ireland as well as in the UK there is HP Sauce, Branston Pickle, pink jumbo marshmallows (yes, it is a condiment for hot chocolate, and yes Alex, I will bring you back a bag), and Ballymaloe mint jelly, to name just four of my favorites. A few weeks back, we had leg of lamb as part of our Sunday post-Mass communal meal, and one member of our dinner party ran to the fridge to grab a jar of the Ballymaloe mint jelly to spread on a slice. I was stunned at how good it was. Wanting to get a jar for one of the retreatants that was leaving in a few days, I walked the mile to the non-existent bus stop. After the bus drove right by me while I was frantically waving my arms (this would NOT happen in Scotland because 1) there are actual bus stops and 2) the bus drivers are the BEST), two locals took pity on me and offered me a ride to the next town. When I told them of my errand, they proceeded to explain to me that Ballymaloe, while indeed good, is only to be used on lamb. Not beef, chicken, pork, or blood sausage (don’t ask). Got it.

Last week, one of the American monks here at the hermitage in Ireland asked for some “American yellow mustard” when Sister Pat and I went for a grocery run. Even though there were five or six brown Dijon mustards living in the fridge, he wanted yellow. I get it - they are not the same.

When in the UK, I am also crazy for their dish soap and laundry detergent scents, but I will save that for another post. (They have green apple scented Fairy liquid dish soap this year, Christina!)

You might be wondering why I had a jar of Jif in my carryon luggage in the first place. I don’t even like Jif myself. If I need peanut butter to go with some jelly to make a sandwich for a five-year-old, I will turn to whatever is handy or buy what is on sale. There is no brand loyalty for me when it comes to peanut butter.

For those of you who have been reading me for a while now, you know that last year I became addicted to Branston Pickle. I wrote about it here. And no, you cannot get it in America except for at British specialty shops, and then it is as crazy expensive as you would expect. (I recently searched on Amazon UK, and a jar of Jif is $35.)

There are two grocers in my Hebridean village - one that carries Branston Pickle, and one that does not. The grocer that does not have it on his shelves does not have it because… it is an English product. (I get it. If you don’t, I will write about it in another post. Sidenote: while waiting for the ferry last year in Uig, the Caledonian McBrayne ticket counter guys asked me what my favorite Scottish food was. When I said, “Branston Pickle” a dead silence fell, then one of them said, “That’s English.” I will say no more.) But the other grocer in the village not only sells it but carries it in three assorted sizes. So, it was with this grocer I made a deal to barter for my Branston Pickle habit. “Is there an American condiment I could bring back for you next winter to trade for my Branston Pickle?” He immediately replied that he would like a jar of Jif. Not Peter Pan, not Skippy, but Jif specifically. Now that I think about it - he initiated the trade idea in the first place!

To his credit, when I told my father this tale, he asked me how the grocer even knew about Jif peanut butter. I tell you as I told him - I have no idea. It did not occur to me, so focused as I am by a successful barter deal for my Branston Pickle. Certainly, people of all countries seek peanut butter out. It seems to be a global interest. A common winter destination for the Scots is Spain - maybe they have Jif. They also like to go to Disney World in Florida for holiday….

How does one eat Branston Pickle, you ask? On a cracker or slice of bread with a few slices of white hard cheddar cheese that you cut yourself with a knife. (Do not cut yourself with the knife; cut the cheese with the knife.) I prefer the Irish to the English variety of white cheddar. Then you spoon a bit of the pickle-that-has-no-cucumber-in-it on top of the cheese and eat it. My son is now a fan of it as well.

Celebrities and Branston Pickle

Now you might be wondering what I am going to do or not do about the unfair confiscation of my jar of Jif that the TSA security scanner-guy probably took home to his pantry. As luck may have it, one of the nuns here at the hermitage went home to Chicago for Thanksgiving. And she checked one of her bags. I kindly asked if she would purchase a small jar of Jif for my friend in Scotland. A four-pound jar is a bit overkill.

So, now I have my little one-pound jar of creamy Jiff (he didn’t specify creamy or chunky - you can always add chopped peanuts, I figure). Thank you, Sister Ceil! I will see you here on Substack next week while I am in Edinburgh, Scotland, with my jar of Jif tucked safely away into my larger checked suitcase.

Blessings & Love,

“Bring out the Branston!”