August 3rd, 2004 12:36am
Peanut Butter Is the New Cupcake?
I’ve been subletting an apartment in Manhattan for the last month as a way to clear my head and get some serious work-related writing done. And it’s afforded me a lot of things: a chance to just walk to my place of residence after getting screamingly drunk, rather than toughing out the 45-plus minute drive back to New Jersey (God’s country). I mean, there are some nights that I’ve driven so drunk that I couldn’t even begin to tell you whether or not I hit something. Or someone. I don’t think I ever did though.
Temporarily living in NYC has also given me a chance to experience some of the finest restaurants in the world. There’s a Manhattan-only pizza chain called Two Boots that is positively excellent – their pizza is nowhere near as cheesy as Domino’s or Papa John’s – the only pizza you can get in my neck of the woods for over twenty-five miles – and they name each different pizza after a funny character from a movie or television show!
But the place that I’ve truly fallen in love with is called Peanut Butter & Co. on Sullivan Street. I have no fucking idea how to make the previous words light up magically and take you to their website, but their URL is www.ilovepeanutbutter.com . I mean, beat that name! And you’d better love peanut butter if you plan on eating at this place, because that’s what it’s all about. They’ve got tuna fish sandwiches on the menu as well, but how much of a douchebag would you feel like eating tuna fish at a place called Peanut Butter & Co.?
I walked by the place one night and looked in their window. I was intrigued, so I made a lunch date with myself for the following afternoon. The thing that I found most appealing was the act that you were presented with: once you’re inside, everyone must uphold the illusion that a peanut butter sandwich should actually cost five dollars. And it’s not like some mammoth peanut butter sandwich either; it’s the kind that you would bang back in thirty seconds when you were eleven. Everybody was just going along with the act, pretending that they weren’t getting hosed. Why? Because it’s funny that a place would just sell peanut butter and jelly sandwiches!
I wasn’t going to order the normal PB&J, nor was I going to go for the kitchy heart-clogging ‘Elvis’ (grilled PB&J with bananas and honey, bacon optional – $6.50). So I got the Peanut Butter Club ($6.00), which turned out to be a normal peanut butter and jelly sandwich done up club-style. So I paid a dollar more for a single piece of bread. Whee!
Ordering was fun enough, with the guy behind the counter helping me craft my Club. ‘Will you have that on white or wheat, sir? Would you like smooth or crunchy? What type of jelly would you like?’ So ten minutes later – TEN MINUTES!? – I get my sandwich. And I eat it. And it’s good. Really good. Really Really Good. But it’s good because it’s FUCKING PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY. This was the first restaurant I’ve ever eaten at where I knew I could walk into the kitchen and teach the cooks (sandwich chefs?) a thing or two about the artistry of their foodstuffs.
As I said, it was good. But by the fourth bite, it was just okay. And I was sick to my stomach by bite number six. Too much of a good thing? I dunno. But I left Peanut Butter & Co. knowing I would never return.
Except I did return this afternoon. And I had another Peanut Butter Club. And I felt sick at exactly the same moment as last time. So either I’m more out of practice eating sugary shit than I thought – I gave up all sweets and snacks about two months ago, along with caffeine and soda – or this place is onto something. They give you the full rollercoaster experience: anticipation, satisfaction, a creeping disgust followed by nausea, which is chased by a creeping temptation to return. Weird. So do I recommend eating there? No. But I will continue to overpay for their magnificently gross sandwiches.
— Tom Scharpling