Neither of these has anything to do with Homicide. Trust me.
One reason I’m writing this? As a tribute to a friend, it’s my spin on a memoir piece. My dear comrade in Substack arms, the very funny and irrepressibly eccentric, Steve Kearin of Memoiry Lane is dropping his 10 part audio series, Toughen Up in the next couple of days and I can’t wait to listen to it in the altogether (not nude mind you, just all the pieces as one!). I’ve heard so many different versions of it over the past couple of years, and it is some very funny and very vulnerable shit written with a big, bold, and generous heart. With self-generated sound effects to boot!!!
The genesis of his stories, which revolve around growing up with his very - shall we say - opinionated parents, began as a one-man show that Steve’s performed up and down the West Coast.
Oh, I didn’t I tell you? He’s a friggin’ genius performer, improviser, and a voice artist. Do I love him? Yes. Am I bias? No way, me?
So, keep yer ears peeled for my dear pal, who I am clearly impartial about.
The next reason I wrote this:
I love peanut butter and I found a photo.
Oh, and I’m in editing mode on the next article - Sunday for sure.
First the photo. It was probably 1984, I had no money, no one hiring me, and a PR person said “Let’s get some cool photos, maybe we can do something with you.” Did it help at all? No idea. Found this one cleaning out my office.
On to the story:
Ralphs Grocery, in my opinion, has some fine-ass peanut butter: Simple Truth, No-Stir, Crunchy with 90% peanuts, free of 101 Unwanted Ingredients in one handy 16-ounce jar. I love the feel of this jar in my hand as I gently wrap my fingers around its arcing plastic goodness, my human flesh less than 0.015” from heaven. It slightly indents with my grip as I slide it, away from the others, off the shelf. Its heft is noted; the result of at least 720 dry roasted organic peanuts shorn of their skins, industrially ground, combined with palm oil, cane sugar, and sea salt.
While the Creamy version offers a Byron-esque “lush, velvety retreat into pure, subtle taste”. The Crunchy is pure blue collar, Bukowski-like, “a trusted taste,” and “an easy choice to get exactly what you want.”
Nothing subtle. The underdog. Rough-hewn.
I’ve tried making PB at home and it never turns out exactly right. It’s ok. But, Ralphs, oh Ralphs: they are perfection every time. It’s the Carls Jr. of peanut butter.
Skippy’s? Fuck Skippy’s. It got recalled anyway.
So, imagine my disappointment when one day the always stocked shelf is empty. That had never happened. Ever, not even during the pandemic. Yet there it was: an empty shelf with the little bar code thingy on its ledge which reads: Simple Truth, Peanut Butter, No-Stir 16 oz.
Gone? No, no, it can’t be. Was this the new normal? Had it finally been put out to pasture? Wait one second! Millions of people, like me, MUST love this. MUST get the same satisfaction every morning on toast, oatmeal, celery sticks, bagels, Ritz crackers, or a Peanut Butter and Pickle Sandwich for god’s sake!!! (my cousin Doug introduced me to them when were kids playing with our Hot Wheels and listening to Sgt. Peppers for the first time - he snuck it by me, and I make one up annually as a tribute to Doug)
To my disappointment, other Ralph’s shoppers sped around, seemingly content with their purchases, happy with the choices offered, taking any old nut butter spread. No one was standing with me. No one to commiserate with, like, “This isn’t fair, comrade. Where’s the sanctity, where’s the loyalty? Dear lord, could the food chain be broken?!”
I’m alone, locked in, bent over, glasses sliding down my nose. Then, out of the corner of my eye - a display:
NEW! BIGGER! Its my beloved peanut butter, but in a NET WT 40 OZ (2 LB 8 OZ) 1.13kg plastic, look alike, but in a gargantuan container. Not the svelte, perfect fitting jar but this - this - Sharkanado wanna be of a nut butter container.
If they thought I was going to get excited, if they thought I would just bend to their manipulative marketing…they were right. Not that I wanted to. It seemed callous, a bit gluttonous. I looked around me, just to see if anyone was watching. No one. Why would they? So, I grabbed…I was going to say, greedily grabbed, but I won’t…but I just did…so.
But, ya know - something didn’t feel right.
There was just too much. It was too heavy. And, what now? No more tidy 16-ouncers? No more looking forward to that feeling in two weeks, of “Oh boy, is someone else eating my peanut butter? I better go to Ralph’s today, no later than tomorrow.” I loved that feeling of a practical quenching of desire..
But this is a different beast. This, by week two, is barely a third of the way down. The spoon scoops strangely, you need to modulate it differently, especially if, like me, you like exactly the perfect amount in one scoop. No going back for more.
Alright, so it took a couple of days, but I figured it out.
However, in two more weeks, as my entire hand disappeared into the tub, the scenty butter smeared on my wrist and fingernails, and my knuckles scrapped from the sharp lid; the party was over. The affair had run its course. Did I still smell the jar before I stuck in my spoon, to prime the pump of anticipation? I admit I did. Don’t fault me, I am not cheating on my 16 oz love. It’s a habit no matter the size or even the regret.
I’ll return to Ralphs in exactly six scoops. When I do, and if they have chosen to somehow go with this Cosco-size monolith, I’ll protest. I won’t give in and go big - I did that and look what happened -
I wrote this article.
Until the next one! Cheers!
Random question: was there ever any conversation about bringing you in to play Andre’s husband on Brooklyn 99?
Lol. Now I want a Reese's cup.