So there we were at a restaurant in Shelburne Falls a week ago and my wife ordered a cheeseburger. The waitress very nicely asked if she would like to try their special PB and J cheeseburger. My wife declined nicely.
So we go home, driving after dark to boot, and a text is awaiting me from a nephew with a link to a recipe for none other than the PB and J cheeseburger. He and his family are visiting next week and he suggested we try it.
So I Googled the wasteland of our American food culture and found the love song to this neo-classic.
Instead of muttering retreats to this news, I asked myself, “Do I dare? Do I dare?“
I know I dream of being a Michelangelo in the kitchen, but how should I begin?
Dare I disturb the universe?
And in short, I was afraid. And would it have been worth it, after all?
Well, I made the darn thing, with bacon, a small slather of peanut butter on the bottom bun and hot pepper jelly on the top. Cheeseburger, on the rare side, in the middle.
It wasn’t bad. It won’t replace my favorite cheeseburger: French’s mustard, sliced onion and tomato, soft bulkie roll.
Now that I have broken out of my hamburger box and tried the PB and J cheeseburger, I have just two questions as I sit here in my rolled-up trousers staring at the sea:
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
P.S. – Please forgive me, Mr. Eliot. Have a cheeseburger.
— LOU
PB &J burgers. I do not think that they will sing to me.
By the way not to be nitpicky, but you have no hair. At least not enough to part and to solve the peach question, there were no peaches this year due to a late frost.
— LUCY