A large jar of JIF crunchy peanut butter sits on my kitchen pantry shelf. Could this be the last sighting of my favorite sandwich spread until I return from Paris? Should I pack it with the dictionaries, scarves, and tennis shoes?
The French aren’t big peanut butter consumers. They eat Nutella, certainly. Great butter, of course. Jam, mais oui. But what about JIF-Skippy-Peter Pan-Laura Scudders? And how much of your own life–how much of America–how much YOU–do you take on a trip?
I plan to pack myself a lunch for each walking foray into the City of Lights, a protection against finding myself in a monstrously overpriced restaurant or ravenous as I rattle along on the Metro. I’ll prepare a modest bag of sandwich, fruit, and a yogurt for contemplative consuming in a park. With the US dollar down to 72 cents to the Euro, frugality is on my mind. And what keeps better than a PBJ? Peanut butter and a French raspberry confiture, d’accord? No worries about spoiling lunchmeats or sagging egg salad.
If I could find Butterball turkeys, Rice Krispies, and Kit Kat bars in Dubai two years ago, maybe I should trust that I’ll find everything I need on Parisian grocery shelves. But will Carrefours really supply all my journey’s fuel? Maybe just throw in an emergency jar of JIF and not tempt fate.
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