The Great Debate...

There are, in this life, issues for which there can never be a true resolution.

Conservative or liberal in your politics, paper or plastic in the grocery store, over or under for the roll of toilet paper. These are things in which, let's face it, we are set in our ways. And that's fine. That's how it should be.

As far back as I can remember, the perfect Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich (that's right, that was capitalized) has long been an issue of contention, as well. Strawberry or grape, chunky or creamy, white or wheat, jelly or jam (or, God forbid, the culinary horror that is "preserves"); the options, you might think, are endless. Well, I'm here to set you straight. The options are not nearly endless. In fact, for the perfect PB&J, there are no options.

And, for purposes of this conversation, we won't even approach the commercially available monstrosity known as "Goober":

*Image sourced from the web, as I would never actually own such a product to be able to photograph it...

If your idea of a satisfying PB&J includes anything that remotely looks like that, step away from your computer now, and go chew on some coffee grounds and lard, and leave the very idea of the perfect PB&J to someone who might actually appreciate it as, clearly, you never will. "Goober" is something for which there is no reasonable purpose, perhaps with the exception of inducing retching among the more civilized among us.

No, there is one proper way to make one, and it is etched in stone.

Permit me to impart upon you the sage ways of the PB&J. You may think you know how to make one but, in all likelihood, you don't. As I said, there are no variables to this.

The makings of the perfect PB&J are remarkably simple, and there are only three of them:

• Wonder Bread (must be white)
• JIF Creamy Peanut Butter
• Welch's Concord Grape Jelly

The makings of the perfect peanut butter & jelly sandwich...

That's it. That's all there is to it.

So simple, yet so complex.

Now, if absolutely necessary, you can substitute Sara Lee Soft & Smooth White Bread for the Wonder Bread. Be advised though that, while this will provide you with a delicious PB&J experience, that experience won't be "perfect".

So, let's move past the bread, because the bread is the only aspect of the sandwich for which a substitution is ever permitted. Let us now look at the "meat" of the sandwich: The "PB" and the "J".

First, the peanut butter must be of the creamy or smooth variety, and it must be JIF. Period. If you're of the opinion that "chunky" is the way to go, leave now; you're clearly a neanderthal, raised by wolves and have no place among polite society. If, however, you recognize the importance of the creamy variety in the construction of the perfect PB&J, read on.

The jelly? There is no choice, and there are no options. It's Welch's Grape Jelly, or it's, maybe, a grilled cheese sandwich, instead. If you believe that strawberry is the way to go, then I submit that you are a neophyte to the ways of the PB&J, and should be educated. That's why I'm here; to educate you. I'm here to give you an education.

I'm a giver.

The "meat" of a proper PB&J...

So, you've got your bread, and you've got your Welch's Concord Grape Jelly, and you've got your JIF Creamy Peanut Butter. Slather it on, mash 'em together, and enjoy, right?

Wrong.

As you lay your slices of nutritionally deficient white bread out on your plate, you're ready to apply the peanut butter. ALWAYS apply the peanut butter first. It just works better that way.

I was asked once, with regards to the proper application of the peanut butter, "How much is too much?"

The answer, of course, is that there's no such thing. You can't use too much peanut butter. While it is entirely possible to use too little, it's never possible to use too much. Go for it. Knock yourself out. The more the merrier.

You might suspect that the same would apply with regards to the jelly and, in fact, you would be correct. However, there's a caveat with regards to the amount of jelly used as compared to the amount of peanut butter used. Peanut butter, when used in a manner that the uninitiated might consider "too much", will not ooze out from between the slices of bread as you pick it up. Granted, this is one of the small joys of a PB&J, but you do need to be aware of the potential for that too happen. So, be liberal, yet not overbearing:

This is how it should look just before the final step of construction...

I remember someone mentioning once how they put the peanut butter on the bread, and then put the jelly (and I can't believe I'm actually going to say this) on top of the peanut butter.

Sweet Mother of God.

Just the mere thought of that makes me shudder, as it should you. The jelly needs to be applied to its own piece of bread so that it can begin the slow, laborious task of saturating, even if ever so slightly, the bread on that side of the sandwich. Not allowing for that is to allow for a substandard PB&J.

You're now upon the most challenging aspect of the sandwich construction process, that being the mating of left with right, the "P" with the "J". Place the "J" side in your right hand, and gently flip it onto the "P" side. Don't press it down, don't mash it together. Allow the sides to joyously mingle on their own. Set the sandwich onto the plate, peanut butter side on the bottom.

Congratulations. You're done. You've just constructed the perfect Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich.

Personally, I like my PB&J to have just a tad more peanut butter than jelly. Again, this is a personal choice, and you should make the determination for yourself. When you're done, though, the proper PB&J should look quite similar to the photo below. Add a glass of milk into the mix, and you've now got yourself a meal of simple, yet epic, proportions.

What it should look like from the side...

Bon appetit, Mon Ami...