Food trend alert: store-bought PB&Js

I've noticed a new food trend since my move back to America. Store-bought PB&Js. They're everywhere. In the PCC deli. In Starbucks bento boxes. On the menu at your local sandwich joint.

What does this say about our society?

1. We're that lazy 
2. We think that nostalgia = good (seen across millennial culture, not just in the culinary world) 

But allow me to step down off my high llama for a second. I love this trend. Heck, I've been singing Uncrustables' praises for years now. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are delicious and, for those rare occasions when curried tempeh just won't cut it, I'm willing to pay $4 for one from PCC.

Image by Evan-Amos via Wikimedia Commons

Some more useful information relating to PB&Js:

• The first reference of peanut butter paired with jelly on bread to be published in the United States was by Julia Davis Chandler in 1901 in the Boston Cooking-School Magazine of Culinary Science and Domestic Economics. (via Wikipedia)

• Jam is made from crushed fruit, whereas jelly is made from fruit juice.

• The average American eats 1,500 PB&Js before the age of 18. (via Thrillist)

• April 2nd is National Peanut Butter and Jelly Day.

• Arachibutyrophobia is the fear of getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth.

I hope we all learned something here today. 

Goodbye,
Margaret

P.S. After its Emmy win, Andy and I decided to start watching 'Veep.' Our verdict? Hilarious. I recommend. 

Muscle beach

Andy has walked down to the beach and performed a 'driftwood workout' every day this week. It's his own strength-training creation—a Crossfit of sorts.

Two of the circuits involve finding a piece of driftwood and using it as a weight. There's arm curls for the biceps and shoulder presses for bulking up the ol' deltoids.

Because the workout is hard, he grunts (I watched once, so I know). When he's finished with a set, he tosses the driftwood aside like an ogre throwing a human baby. FEE FI FO FUM. GOTTA LIFT THE DRIFTWOOD UNTIL I'M DONE.

Suffice it to say, he looks ridiculous. We've talked about it, and he's well aware. The brilliant thing is, though, that he's probably only the 37th most ridiculous person on the beach. Alki was made for characters. Teenage girls singing Taylor Swift a cappella at full volume. New moms doing stroller aerobics.  Men playing out their mid-life crises in convertible Mazdas. Families in fringed surreys with a full-sized golden retriever in the front basket (I tried to take a photo, but my iPhone didn't have storage...aaarrrrrgh!).

So, Andy can do his driftwood antics without trepidation. He's American now. Better yet, he's a West Seattleite. He's but one of many weirdos that call this fine patch of sand home.

L8ter,

Margaret

P.S. Worked all day. Looked forward to getting an ice cream. Left it too late. Everywhere closed. Made it into Spuds fish n' chips at the last minute. Got a chocolate shake. Happy.

What globalization taught us about Goldfish crackers

When Andy ate his first Goldfish cracker he nibbled on it for a while and then said, "Hmm. Tastes like celery."

I was like, "What? Celery!? You're insane."

Then I looked at the ingredients and there it was: celery salt.

Sometimes it takes a foreigner to point out the stuff you've been missing all your life. When I first met Andy, he was in favor of the monarchy, for Christ's sake! I explained to him that having a Queen, ceremonial as she may be, is a joke in this day and age. He thought about it, engaged with that new idea for a few minutes, and then updated his opinion on the matter.

One time he pointed out to me that I say "I feel like" at the end of my sentences. For example, "You really don't see as many frappuccinos these days I feel like". Now that he's pointed it out, I notice everyone doing it. It's a Pacific Northwest thing I feel like.

Is it time we start allowing babies in bars? 

Anyway, all this is to say that mingling with outsiders—dirty foreigners like Andy—is a good thing. We can learn a lot from one another if we look beyond our borders. Brits can teach us good pub etiquette, particularly when it comes to buying 'rounds'. We can teach them that you don't have to spend ten minutes building up to a goodbye and then ten more minutes actually saying goodbye.

You know what the Japanese can teach us? How to install a bloody earthquake alert system in Seattle!!

I don't know what Donald Trump is on about. We don't need less immigration, we need more. Much, much more.

Wow, I didn't expect it to get political there in the end. Did you see that coming? You just never know where Madgespace will take you, particularly when you're writing stream of consciousness, which is about 89% of this blog.

Tally-ho you knobheads,
Margaret

Ram it

Don't you love it when you discover a hilarious video on YouTube completely on your own? A few years ago I was looking for songs with the word 'ram' in them (my spouse's nickname is Ram) and came across this gem.

Things to consider when watching:

• This was an actual NFL team. They're now the St. Louis Rams, apparently. #AmericanFootball

• The guys rapping in the video are the athletes themselves.

• Imagine this happening today. Can you picture Beast Mode rapping to a song called 'Hawk It'?

• The song is really good.

• This should be mandatory for all NFL teams.

Also, after Googling the song I now realize that I'm not the only one whose been fascinated by its existence. Turns out, there are tons of articles about how amazing it is. Still, I'm proud that I came across it organically.

In other news, I went camping and now I'm back. It was great. Here's a brief, chronological summary:

Lake.

Foil dinners.

Campfire.

Tent. 

Hike. 

Game.

Town. 

Campfire. 

Tent.
Deer.
Taco Time. 

Back to the grind tomorrow! Nighty night. 

Love, 

Margaret

US: world #1 in WPC

Weirdos Per Capita.

Andy pointed it out during one of his visits here.

"Americans are just so much more comfortable being weird!"

And it's true. After a week in Seaside and a stroll along the Alki strip this afternoon, it's clearer than ever. Americans are weird.

Today I saw a guy, shirt off, jean shorts, spiky blond hair, gliding down the sidewalk with a boombox on his skateboard blaring '90s rap. Further down the road a 50-year-old man was waxing his motorcycle while listening to 'Backstreet's Back' on full blast.

In Seaside, I saw entire families dressed in matching sweatsuits with neon 'Seaside' lettering across their butts.

Dogs in strollers? Yep!

Gangster knee tattoos? Oh yeah!

Tai Chi on the side of a busy road? Of course!

Lounge chairs and BBQ-ing in the driveway? Cool!

Crocs with dresses / high heels with exercise shorts / barefoot in public? Yes! Yes! Yes!

This stuff just doesn't happen in Britain.

Maybe it would have been more accurate (and kinder) for Andy to say that Americans are comfortable being different. Unlike Brits, we don't mind standing out in a crowd. Or we aren't even aware that we're standing out. Or we realise that, in a country full of sore thumbs, there's actually no such thing as standing out. When everyone's weird, "weird" loses its meaning.

Alki today.

In these first few weeks back, I've also been struck by how friendly everyone is. That's something you hear Brits say often—"Americans are so friendly!" I never fully understood it until now. It's not just cheery baristas and overly helpful door greeters at The Gap. It's totally random strangers being totally randomly friendly, all the time.

Example. You're standing in a long line at Starbucks and your phone rings. It's your sister. You ask her if she wants a drink. Everyone she's with also wants something, so you say "hang on a second" and then type up the list of orders on your phone.

In the US, it would not be strange for the person behind you to say something like, "I bet you're sorry you asked!" after you hung up. You'd respond, "Geesh, I know!" and the two of you would share a chuckle.

In the UK, this wouldn't happen. Of course the person behind you would have eavesdropped on your conversation—it's impossible not to—but they wouldn't want you to know they had. Talking to you about the call would mean acknowledging that they listened in on it, and they simply wouldn't be comfortable with that.

The UK has many virtues (GOING TO THE DENTIST COSTS $12!!!!!), but they're lacking in weirdos. Even the weirdos they do have are generic weirdos. Here in Yankland, particularly on the west coast, weirdos grow on trees.

Speaking of trees, have I told you about the trees here?

Sincerely,
Weird in Washington*

P.S. Pronounced Warshington

Speak loudly and carry a pack of soothing cough drops

I'm hoarse.

Not to be an old lady, but why must they play the music so loud in bars? How are people supposed to have a decent conversation over ear-piercing guitar solos?

Five and a half years in the UK and my once-robust American vocal chords have shrivelled into shadows of their former selves. I became so accustomed to the meek, muted tones of British discourse that I fear I may never regain my old volume.

In Edinburgh I'd often work from the black chair in our bay window. I quickly learned how to tune out the bagpipes. But when American tourists would walk down the Mile, my ears couldn't ignore their familiar, flat, unapologetic, thunderous honking. MY PEOPLE. I'd be compelled to look up from my laptop and watch them walk by. Yoga pants + fleece + running shoes, without fail.

It took me about a year of being over there to adopt a UK-approved volume. It happened gradually. I didn't realise I was talking quieter until I came back to Kenmore for a visit and everyone in my family kept saying, "What?" "I can't hear you!" "Speak up!"

Now that I'm back for good, I can only hope that I'll eventually get my voice back. My true American voice. Monotone. Confident. Loud.

While I'm on the subject, I think it's unfair that Americans get all the flack for being loud. Yes, we're loud. Much louder than the English, Scottish and Irish. But we aren't the only country that errs on the side of screaming. What about Italians? Or Greeks? Spaniards? Porto Ricans? Those are just some of the countries where, according to anecdotal research and some quick Googling, people also talk loudly.

What's on its head? I don't know. I don't think we'll ever know.

I feel like I've meandered off topic because it's nearly midnight and I haven't yet fulfilled my bath quota for the day. I can't think straight.

The main thing I wanted to get across is that I'm hoarse. HOARSE. After catching up with high school friends all day, and having a lovely time, I'm ready for some herbal tea and hot soak in the tub.

Wiedersehen,

Margaret

P.S. Don't Google Image search "Vocal Chords". NSFW.

P.PS. Is there a better cough drop than original Ricola? If so, I don't want to know about it.

Image by philozopher via Flickr