In the many idle chats we've had on the road, Brian has learned about my favorite foods and I about his. Two areas we have in common are barbeque and peanut butter. And indeed, on our last trip, he located a good ‘que place near the hotel. But he topped that bit of foodie acumen when he showed up on site, reached into his luggage and pulled out a jar for me of his favorite PB from Peanut Butter and Co. He had been waxing rhapsodically about the taste, the various favors and texture. On a recent shopping trip he picked up an extra jar for me, a very thoughtful and generous thing to do.
There was only one issue: we were in Dallas. As with many road warriors, I have a familiar routine to make the frequent travel easier. I know where to park at the airport and where to sit on the plane. As for luggage, it's always carryon; checking is a cardinal sin. That's 20 minutes at the other end I'll never get back, assuming they don't lose my luggage in the first place. So I weed out any non-essentials, buy little tubes and bottles of whatever I need, and make sure it will fit into the overhead bin above my seat.
Indeed, I had flown in the night before, and carried on my luggage as I usually do. I thanked Brian profusely, but had a forbidding feeling. Sure enough, a check of the TSA website confirmed that they treat peanut butter as a liquid. That means you can't have any more than 4 ounces in your bag, or else it has to go in the hold. And this jar was most assuredly bigger than a mini shampoo bottle.
I figured I had several options. I could give it back to him, explaining I couldn't carry it home in my preferred configuration. I could spend our remaining night in my hotel room eating the entire jar. Or I could simply dispose it, and tell him how good it was, knowing he would never be the wiser.
But throwing out perfectly good food, especially a jar of peanut butter, seemed wrong. I also couldn't down an entire jar in my room (actually I probably could, but I resisted the temptation). The next day as we grabbed a car to the airport, I considered fessing up and returning it to him, but that just seemed rude and ungrateful. And as just stated emphatically, checking it went against my very core. It was beginning to look like disposal was the most likely last resort.
We were flying on different airlines, so the car dropped him off first. After we said goodbye and pulled back out to head to my terminal, I had a thought. I said to my Uber driver, "This is kind of as strange out-of-left-field question, but do you like peanut butter?" He confessed that he did. I told him of Brian's kind gift and my dilemma. Of course, he asked why I didn't just check my luggage, but I demurred, citing my bias. "This might sound strange," I said, "but have you ever been tipped in peanut butter?" He laughed and asked if I was serious. I indicated I was. Sure, he said, he was game. I added just one proviso: he had to drop me a line as to how it was. He agreed, and took the jar.
When I landed a little after midnight, the first thing that popped up on my phone was a text: "This is Nick, your Uber driver." Strange, I thought. I had driven to the airport, so no car should be waiting for me. But then I read on: "The peanut butter is AMAZING! It's buttery smooth with no thick aftertaste and tastes very fresh. I am definitely hooked!" And as for me, I was able to concur. When I got home I found a jar sitting on the counter, courtesy of my wife who had picked one up after I related Brian's recommendation.
To Brian: thank you for your generosity. I was touched by your thoughtfulness, and hope you will forgive me for giving away your gift and spreading the wealth. To Nick: thanks for the ride to the airport and for the note. And to Peanut Butter and Co: you have one – no, two – new fans.
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford loves all things peanutty. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
There was only one issue: we were in Dallas. As with many road warriors, I have a familiar routine to make the frequent travel easier. I know where to park at the airport and where to sit on the plane. As for luggage, it's always carryon; checking is a cardinal sin. That's 20 minutes at the other end I'll never get back, assuming they don't lose my luggage in the first place. So I weed out any non-essentials, buy little tubes and bottles of whatever I need, and make sure it will fit into the overhead bin above my seat.
Indeed, I had flown in the night before, and carried on my luggage as I usually do. I thanked Brian profusely, but had a forbidding feeling. Sure enough, a check of the TSA website confirmed that they treat peanut butter as a liquid. That means you can't have any more than 4 ounces in your bag, or else it has to go in the hold. And this jar was most assuredly bigger than a mini shampoo bottle.
I figured I had several options. I could give it back to him, explaining I couldn't carry it home in my preferred configuration. I could spend our remaining night in my hotel room eating the entire jar. Or I could simply dispose it, and tell him how good it was, knowing he would never be the wiser.
But throwing out perfectly good food, especially a jar of peanut butter, seemed wrong. I also couldn't down an entire jar in my room (actually I probably could, but I resisted the temptation). The next day as we grabbed a car to the airport, I considered fessing up and returning it to him, but that just seemed rude and ungrateful. And as just stated emphatically, checking it went against my very core. It was beginning to look like disposal was the most likely last resort.
We were flying on different airlines, so the car dropped him off first. After we said goodbye and pulled back out to head to my terminal, I had a thought. I said to my Uber driver, "This is kind of as strange out-of-left-field question, but do you like peanut butter?" He confessed that he did. I told him of Brian's kind gift and my dilemma. Of course, he asked why I didn't just check my luggage, but I demurred, citing my bias. "This might sound strange," I said, "but have you ever been tipped in peanut butter?" He laughed and asked if I was serious. I indicated I was. Sure, he said, he was game. I added just one proviso: he had to drop me a line as to how it was. He agreed, and took the jar.
When I landed a little after midnight, the first thing that popped up on my phone was a text: "This is Nick, your Uber driver." Strange, I thought. I had driven to the airport, so no car should be waiting for me. But then I read on: "The peanut butter is AMAZING! It's buttery smooth with no thick aftertaste and tastes very fresh. I am definitely hooked!" And as for me, I was able to concur. When I got home I found a jar sitting on the counter, courtesy of my wife who had picked one up after I related Brian's recommendation.
To Brian: thank you for your generosity. I was touched by your thoughtfulness, and hope you will forgive me for giving away your gift and spreading the wealth. To Nick: thanks for the ride to the airport and for the note. And to Peanut Butter and Co: you have one – no, two – new fans.
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford loves all things peanutty. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
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