road monkey
12-09-07, 05:05 PM
Smooth or Crunchy?
Foo - Peanut Butter
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x136
12-09-07, 05:08 PM
There is only smooth. If I wanted to eat peanuts, I would.
Taerom
12-09-07, 05:10 PM
I don't eat peanut butter too often any more, but when I do, it has to be crunchy. Smooth is just so...boring.
EthanYQX
12-09-07, 05:10 PM
Is it poisonous to bears?
Shadiyah
12-09-07, 05:11 PM
Almond butter...raw
VegaVixen
12-09-07, 05:14 PM
When it's purely food, either. When deposited elsewhere, smooth.
wolfpack
12-09-07, 05:15 PM
:eek:
hmmm, where might you be be depositing it???
oh, and smooth.
hmmm, where might you be be depositing it???
oh, and smooth.
Doolally
12-09-07, 05:18 PM
When it's purely food, either. When deposited elsewhere, smooth.
Deposited elsewhere? :) Don't know why that makes me laugh.
Chunky, though it's kind of silly since I also go for the natural stuff and that has all the peanuts on top.
Deposited elsewhere? :) Don't know why that makes me laugh.
Chunky, though it's kind of silly since I also go for the natural stuff and that has all the peanuts on top.
gbcb
12-09-07, 05:25 PM
Wrote this recently -- seems appropriate to post it here :):
I'm a big fan of China's many regional cuisines, which provide a nearly endless array of mouth-watering dishes: solid, proletarian Beijing dumplings, grilled lamb skewers from Muslim western China, delicately steamed fish from Hong Kong, sweet Shanghainese "red-cooked" pork, fantastic green vegetables from just about everywhere, and, my favourite, the exquisite "numb-spicy" dishes of Sichuan.
But sometimes, I just really need a peanut butter sandwich.
China's cuisine is many things, but every so often it will come up short, and a craving for a peanut butter sandwich is one that Chinese food is particularly ill-equipped to satisfy. Firstly, there's the problem of the bread. "Western-style" bread in China, as in perhaps every Asian country other than Vietnam, is at best a weak approximation of the concept. It is as if bakers have tried to reverse-engineer recipes from photographs of foreign loaves, without ever having tasted them. The result is bread that looks fantastic, but has the consistency and flavour of an old bath sponge. My current preferred brand is a step above most, but still makes my teeth squeak when I eat it.
Peanut butter, thankfully, is an area in which China excels. In addition to a wide range of local brands, international p-b giant Skippy is well-established here, and its products — both smooth and crunchy — can be found in many local supermarkets. This, however, is where the story gets interesting.
At first glance, China's busy supermarkets are visions of plenty. Behind their shiny exteriors, however, is a re-stocking system that could generously be called "spotty". I still remember the day that my neighbourhood supermarket in Beijing simply stopped selling bacon. There was no explanation: it was as if it had never existed. I was disappointed, but took it in stride. Then, suddenly, the peanut butter disappeared.
Assuming it had been relocated in one of the supermarket's pointless bi-monthly reorganizations, I asked the store manager where I could find it.
"We don't have it any more," he said.
Worried, I continued: would they be getting more?
"We might get more, but we might not. I don't know."
And just like that, the peanut butter was gone, its place taken by a random selection of salted plums and something called meat floss. The next few days went by in a blur as the cold reality of life without peanut butter sank in.
When I saw peanut butter back on the shelves a week later, I was euphoric. That feeling came crashing down a moment later as I discovered that the variety on offer was a pirated version of Skippy. Now, I can understand a pirated handbag or coat, but I draw the line at knowingly eating knock-off food products — especially when each jar of supposedly identical peanut butter had its own distinct hue.
The Skippy did eventually return, but I had learned my lesson: I began stockpiling peanut butter in anticipation of the next shortage.
When I moved to Shanghai, I was dazzled. For the first few months after my arrival, I couldn't stop talking about my supermarket. Forget peanut butter — hell, it had balsamic vinegar!
How quickly the lessons of the past are forgotten.
By this time, my tastes in sandwiches had expanded, and I was venturing into recreational mayonnaise use. I thought I could stop any time. Little did I know I would be forced to quit cold turkey when it vanished from even the fancy foreign supermarkets.
What had happened? Who was to blame? How could an entire city of 19 million people suddenly run out of mayonnaise?
I pondered these questions for weeks, unable to find an answer.
And, just as suddenly as it had disappeared, the mayonnaise was back.
And what mayonnaise! The old standbys like Kraft were there, to be sure, but there was so much more. German brands I had no hope of pronouncing filled the shelves, their contents held suggestively within flexible tubes rather than the familiar, rigid jars. Light mayonnaise, "real" mayonnaise, spiced mayonnaise — it was all there.
I grabbed a selection and headed for the cashier. Standing in line was a friend of mine, his shopping basket filled with two dozen cans of tomato sauce, his eyes filled with a triumphant gleam. We nodded at each other knowingly — for today, at least, we were both victorious.
I'm a big fan of China's many regional cuisines, which provide a nearly endless array of mouth-watering dishes: solid, proletarian Beijing dumplings, grilled lamb skewers from Muslim western China, delicately steamed fish from Hong Kong, sweet Shanghainese "red-cooked" pork, fantastic green vegetables from just about everywhere, and, my favourite, the exquisite "numb-spicy" dishes of Sichuan.
But sometimes, I just really need a peanut butter sandwich.
China's cuisine is many things, but every so often it will come up short, and a craving for a peanut butter sandwich is one that Chinese food is particularly ill-equipped to satisfy. Firstly, there's the problem of the bread. "Western-style" bread in China, as in perhaps every Asian country other than Vietnam, is at best a weak approximation of the concept. It is as if bakers have tried to reverse-engineer recipes from photographs of foreign loaves, without ever having tasted them. The result is bread that looks fantastic, but has the consistency and flavour of an old bath sponge. My current preferred brand is a step above most, but still makes my teeth squeak when I eat it.
Peanut butter, thankfully, is an area in which China excels. In addition to a wide range of local brands, international p-b giant Skippy is well-established here, and its products — both smooth and crunchy — can be found in many local supermarkets. This, however, is where the story gets interesting.
At first glance, China's busy supermarkets are visions of plenty. Behind their shiny exteriors, however, is a re-stocking system that could generously be called "spotty". I still remember the day that my neighbourhood supermarket in Beijing simply stopped selling bacon. There was no explanation: it was as if it had never existed. I was disappointed, but took it in stride. Then, suddenly, the peanut butter disappeared.
Assuming it had been relocated in one of the supermarket's pointless bi-monthly reorganizations, I asked the store manager where I could find it.
"We don't have it any more," he said.
Worried, I continued: would they be getting more?
"We might get more, but we might not. I don't know."
And just like that, the peanut butter was gone, its place taken by a random selection of salted plums and something called meat floss. The next few days went by in a blur as the cold reality of life without peanut butter sank in.
When I saw peanut butter back on the shelves a week later, I was euphoric. That feeling came crashing down a moment later as I discovered that the variety on offer was a pirated version of Skippy. Now, I can understand a pirated handbag or coat, but I draw the line at knowingly eating knock-off food products — especially when each jar of supposedly identical peanut butter had its own distinct hue.
The Skippy did eventually return, but I had learned my lesson: I began stockpiling peanut butter in anticipation of the next shortage.
When I moved to Shanghai, I was dazzled. For the first few months after my arrival, I couldn't stop talking about my supermarket. Forget peanut butter — hell, it had balsamic vinegar!
How quickly the lessons of the past are forgotten.
By this time, my tastes in sandwiches had expanded, and I was venturing into recreational mayonnaise use. I thought I could stop any time. Little did I know I would be forced to quit cold turkey when it vanished from even the fancy foreign supermarkets.
What had happened? Who was to blame? How could an entire city of 19 million people suddenly run out of mayonnaise?
I pondered these questions for weeks, unable to find an answer.
And, just as suddenly as it had disappeared, the mayonnaise was back.
And what mayonnaise! The old standbys like Kraft were there, to be sure, but there was so much more. German brands I had no hope of pronouncing filled the shelves, their contents held suggestively within flexible tubes rather than the familiar, rigid jars. Light mayonnaise, "real" mayonnaise, spiced mayonnaise — it was all there.
I grabbed a selection and headed for the cashier. Standing in line was a friend of mine, his shopping basket filled with two dozen cans of tomato sauce, his eyes filled with a triumphant gleam. We nodded at each other knowingly — for today, at least, we were both victorious.
markhr
12-09-07, 06:04 PM
...Crunchy?
There is only one option.
There is only one option.
Taerom
12-09-07, 06:05 PM
This thread is making crave PB. I have a jar in my cupboard, but no cinnamon raisin bread to put it on. :( Cinnamon raisin is the only kind of bread for peanut butter sandwhiches.
p4nh4ndle
12-09-07, 06:07 PM
mmmm... mf&j (meat floss and jelly)
wait... ugh, that sounds terrible
p.s. not to rub it in, but i make my own. best pb EVAR!
wait... ugh, that sounds terrible
p.s. not to rub it in, but i make my own. best pb EVAR!
crtreedude
12-09-07, 06:12 PM
Crunchy - and we only get it occassionally.
markhr
12-09-07, 06:13 PM
Wrote this recently -- seems appropriate to post it here :):
I'm a big fan of China's many regional cuisines, which provide a nearly endless array of mouth-watering dishes: solid, proletarian Beijing dumplings, grilled lamb skewers from Muslim western China, delicately steamed fish from Hong Kong, sweet Shanghainese "red-cooked" pork, fantastic green vegetables from just about everywhere, and, my favourite, the exquisite "numb-spicy" dishes of Sichuan.
But sometimes, I just really need a peanut butter sandwich.
China's cuisine is many things, but every so often it will come up short, and a craving for a peanut butter sandwich is one that Chinese food is particularly ill-equipped to satisfy. Firstly, there's the problem of the bread. "Western-style" bread in China, as in perhaps every Asian country other than Vietnam, is at best a weak approximation of the concept. It is as if bakers have tried to reverse-engineer recipes from photographs of foreign loaves, without ever having tasted them. The result is bread that looks fantastic, but has the consistency and flavour of an old bath sponge. My current preferred brand is a step above most, but still makes my teeth squeak when I eat it.
Peanut butter, thankfully, is an area in which China excels. In addition to a wide range of local brands, international p-b giant Skippy is well-established here, and its products — both smooth and crunchy — can be found in many local supermarkets. This, however, is where the story gets interesting.
At first glance, China's busy supermarkets are visions of plenty. Behind their shiny exteriors, however, is a re-stocking system that could generously be called "spotty". I still remember the day that my neighbourhood supermarket in Beijing simply stopped selling bacon. There was no explanation: it was as if it had never existed. I was disappointed, but took it in stride. Then, suddenly, the peanut butter disappeared.
Assuming it had been relocated in one of the supermarket's pointless bi-monthly reorganizations, I asked the store manager where I could find it.
"We don't have it any more," he said.
Worried, I continued: would they be getting more?
"We might get more, but we might not. I don't know."
And just like that, the peanut butter was gone, its place taken by a random selection of salted plums and something called meat floss. The next few days went by in a blur as the cold reality of life without peanut butter sank in.
When I saw peanut butter back on the shelves a week later, I was euphoric. That feeling came crashing down a moment later as I discovered that the variety on offer was a pirated version of Skippy. Now, I can understand a pirated handbag or coat, but I draw the line at knowingly eating knock-off food products — especially when each jar of supposedly identical peanut butter had its own distinct hue.
The Skippy did eventually return, but I had learned my lesson: I began stockpiling peanut butter in anticipation of the next shortage.
When I moved to Shanghai, I was dazzled. For the first few months after my arrival, I couldn't stop talking about my supermarket. Forget peanut butter — hell, it had balsamic vinegar!
How quickly the lessons of the past are forgotten.
By this time, my tastes in sandwiches had expanded, and I was venturing into recreational mayonnaise use. I thought I could stop any time. Little did I know I would be forced to quit cold turkey when it vanished from even the fancy foreign supermarkets.
What had happened? Who was to blame? How could an entire city of 19 million people suddenly run out of mayonnaise?
I pondered these questions for weeks, unable to find an answer.
And, just as suddenly as it had disappeared, the mayonnaise was back.
And what mayonnaise! The old standbys like Kraft were there, to be sure, but there was so much more. German brands I had no hope of pronouncing filled the shelves, their contents held suggestively within flexible tubes rather than the familiar, rigid jars. Light mayonnaise, "real" mayonnaise, spiced mayonnaise — it was all there.
I grabbed a selection and headed for the cashier. Standing in line was a friend of mine, his shopping basket filled with two dozen cans of tomato sauce, his eyes filled with a triumphant gleam. We nodded at each other knowingly — for today, at least, we were both victorious.
That's funny - biggest problem in the UK is companies like Green&Blacks, Ben&Jerry, etc., being bought out and immediately changing recipes and ingredients. Bang went my supply of decent ice cream and chocolate hazelnut spread.
When I lived in a 3rd world country, supermarkets would sometimes stock production over-runs of export food. While China isn't 3rd world could it be occasional excess stock manufactured and bottled in China?
I'm a big fan of China's many regional cuisines, which provide a nearly endless array of mouth-watering dishes: solid, proletarian Beijing dumplings, grilled lamb skewers from Muslim western China, delicately steamed fish from Hong Kong, sweet Shanghainese "red-cooked" pork, fantastic green vegetables from just about everywhere, and, my favourite, the exquisite "numb-spicy" dishes of Sichuan.
But sometimes, I just really need a peanut butter sandwich.
China's cuisine is many things, but every so often it will come up short, and a craving for a peanut butter sandwich is one that Chinese food is particularly ill-equipped to satisfy. Firstly, there's the problem of the bread. "Western-style" bread in China, as in perhaps every Asian country other than Vietnam, is at best a weak approximation of the concept. It is as if bakers have tried to reverse-engineer recipes from photographs of foreign loaves, without ever having tasted them. The result is bread that looks fantastic, but has the consistency and flavour of an old bath sponge. My current preferred brand is a step above most, but still makes my teeth squeak when I eat it.
Peanut butter, thankfully, is an area in which China excels. In addition to a wide range of local brands, international p-b giant Skippy is well-established here, and its products — both smooth and crunchy — can be found in many local supermarkets. This, however, is where the story gets interesting.
At first glance, China's busy supermarkets are visions of plenty. Behind their shiny exteriors, however, is a re-stocking system that could generously be called "spotty". I still remember the day that my neighbourhood supermarket in Beijing simply stopped selling bacon. There was no explanation: it was as if it had never existed. I was disappointed, but took it in stride. Then, suddenly, the peanut butter disappeared.
Assuming it had been relocated in one of the supermarket's pointless bi-monthly reorganizations, I asked the store manager where I could find it.
"We don't have it any more," he said.
Worried, I continued: would they be getting more?
"We might get more, but we might not. I don't know."
And just like that, the peanut butter was gone, its place taken by a random selection of salted plums and something called meat floss. The next few days went by in a blur as the cold reality of life without peanut butter sank in.
When I saw peanut butter back on the shelves a week later, I was euphoric. That feeling came crashing down a moment later as I discovered that the variety on offer was a pirated version of Skippy. Now, I can understand a pirated handbag or coat, but I draw the line at knowingly eating knock-off food products — especially when each jar of supposedly identical peanut butter had its own distinct hue.
The Skippy did eventually return, but I had learned my lesson: I began stockpiling peanut butter in anticipation of the next shortage.
When I moved to Shanghai, I was dazzled. For the first few months after my arrival, I couldn't stop talking about my supermarket. Forget peanut butter — hell, it had balsamic vinegar!
How quickly the lessons of the past are forgotten.
By this time, my tastes in sandwiches had expanded, and I was venturing into recreational mayonnaise use. I thought I could stop any time. Little did I know I would be forced to quit cold turkey when it vanished from even the fancy foreign supermarkets.
What had happened? Who was to blame? How could an entire city of 19 million people suddenly run out of mayonnaise?
I pondered these questions for weeks, unable to find an answer.
And, just as suddenly as it had disappeared, the mayonnaise was back.
And what mayonnaise! The old standbys like Kraft were there, to be sure, but there was so much more. German brands I had no hope of pronouncing filled the shelves, their contents held suggestively within flexible tubes rather than the familiar, rigid jars. Light mayonnaise, "real" mayonnaise, spiced mayonnaise — it was all there.
I grabbed a selection and headed for the cashier. Standing in line was a friend of mine, his shopping basket filled with two dozen cans of tomato sauce, his eyes filled with a triumphant gleam. We nodded at each other knowingly — for today, at least, we were both victorious.
That's funny - biggest problem in the UK is companies like Green&Blacks, Ben&Jerry, etc., being bought out and immediately changing recipes and ingredients. Bang went my supply of decent ice cream and chocolate hazelnut spread.
When I lived in a 3rd world country, supermarkets would sometimes stock production over-runs of export food. While China isn't 3rd world could it be occasional excess stock manufactured and bottled in China?
glenng
12-09-07, 06:14 PM
Grew up on it so I`m a PB authority. Crunchy FTW. Krunky close 2nd
maximan1
12-09-07, 06:23 PM
Smoothy
ryder47
12-09-07, 06:31 PM
Crunchy of course.
jaxgtr
12-09-07, 06:32 PM
Crunchy
Lamplight
12-09-07, 07:02 PM
Smooth. I don't want to eat a peanut sandwich.
v1k1ng1001
12-09-07, 07:22 PM
There is only smooth. If I wanted to eat peanuts, I would.
:beer:
:beer:
Taerom
12-09-07, 07:24 PM
There is only smooth. If I wanted to eat peanuts, I would.
Smooth. I don't want to eat a peanut sandwich.
:beer:
You people make me sick.
Smooth. I don't want to eat a peanut sandwich.
:beer:
You people make me sick.
chinotex
12-09-07, 07:28 PM
Wrote this recently -- seems appropriate to post it here :):
I'm a big fan of China's many regional cuisines, which provide a nearly endless array of mouth-watering dishes: solid, proletarian Beijing dumplings, grilled lamb skewers from Muslim western China, delicately steamed fish from Hong Kong, sweet Shanghainese "red-cooked" pork, fantastic green vegetables from just about everywhere, and, my favourite, the exquisite "numb-spicy" dishes of Sichuan.
But sometimes, I just really need a peanut butter sandwich.
China's cuisine is many things, but every so often it will come up short, and a craving for a peanut butter sandwich is one that Chinese food is particularly ill-equipped to satisfy. Firstly, there's the problem of the bread. "Western-style" bread in China, as in perhaps every Asian country other than Vietnam, is at best a weak approximation of the concept. It is as if bakers have tried to reverse-engineer recipes from photographs of foreign loaves, without ever having tasted them. The result is bread that looks fantastic, but has the consistency and flavour of an old bath sponge. My current preferred brand is a step above most, but still makes my teeth squeak when I eat it.
Peanut butter, thankfully, is an area in which China excels. In addition to a wide range of local brands, international p-b giant Skippy is well-established here, and its products — both smooth and crunchy — can be found in many local supermarkets. This, however, is where the story gets interesting.
At first glance, China's busy supermarkets are visions of plenty. Behind their shiny exteriors, however, is a re-stocking system that could generously be called "spotty". I still remember the day that my neighbourhood supermarket in Beijing simply stopped selling bacon. There was no explanation: it was as if it had never existed. I was disappointed, but took it in stride. Then, suddenly, the peanut butter disappeared.
Assuming it had been relocated in one of the supermarket's pointless bi-monthly reorganizations, I asked the store manager where I could find it.
"We don't have it any more," he said.
Worried, I continued: would they be getting more?
"We might get more, but we might not. I don't know."
And just like that, the peanut butter was gone, its place taken by a random selection of salted plums and something called meat floss. The next few days went by in a blur as the cold reality of life without peanut butter sank in.
When I saw peanut butter back on the shelves a week later, I was euphoric. That feeling came crashing down a moment later as I discovered that the variety on offer was a pirated version of Skippy. Now, I can understand a pirated handbag or coat, but I draw the line at knowingly eating knock-off food products — especially when each jar of supposedly identical peanut butter had its own distinct hue.
The Skippy did eventually return, but I had learned my lesson: I began stockpiling peanut butter in anticipation of the next shortage.
When I moved to Shanghai, I was dazzled. For the first few months after my arrival, I couldn't stop talking about my supermarket. Forget peanut butter — hell, it had balsamic vinegar!
How quickly the lessons of the past are forgotten.
By this time, my tastes in sandwiches had expanded, and I was venturing into recreational mayonnaise use. I thought I could stop any time. Little did I know I would be forced to quit cold turkey when it vanished from even the fancy foreign supermarkets.
What had happened? Who was to blame? How could an entire city of 19 million people suddenly run out of mayonnaise?
I pondered these questions for weeks, unable to find an answer.
And, just as suddenly as it had disappeared, the mayonnaise was back.
And what mayonnaise! The old standbys like Kraft were there, to be sure, but there was so much more. German brands I had no hope of pronouncing filled the shelves, their contents held suggestively within flexible tubes rather than the familiar, rigid jars. Light mayonnaise, "real" mayonnaise, spiced mayonnaise — it was all there.
I grabbed a selection and headed for the cashier. Standing in line was a friend of mine, his shopping basket filled with two dozen cans of tomato sauce, his eyes filled with a triumphant gleam. We nodded at each other knowingly — for today, at least, we were both victorious.
Somehow, amazingly, this post made me miss China. It's the small things like this that make my time there really memorable. These are the stories worth telling. Thanks!
I'm a big fan of China's many regional cuisines, which provide a nearly endless array of mouth-watering dishes: solid, proletarian Beijing dumplings, grilled lamb skewers from Muslim western China, delicately steamed fish from Hong Kong, sweet Shanghainese "red-cooked" pork, fantastic green vegetables from just about everywhere, and, my favourite, the exquisite "numb-spicy" dishes of Sichuan.
But sometimes, I just really need a peanut butter sandwich.
China's cuisine is many things, but every so often it will come up short, and a craving for a peanut butter sandwich is one that Chinese food is particularly ill-equipped to satisfy. Firstly, there's the problem of the bread. "Western-style" bread in China, as in perhaps every Asian country other than Vietnam, is at best a weak approximation of the concept. It is as if bakers have tried to reverse-engineer recipes from photographs of foreign loaves, without ever having tasted them. The result is bread that looks fantastic, but has the consistency and flavour of an old bath sponge. My current preferred brand is a step above most, but still makes my teeth squeak when I eat it.
Peanut butter, thankfully, is an area in which China excels. In addition to a wide range of local brands, international p-b giant Skippy is well-established here, and its products — both smooth and crunchy — can be found in many local supermarkets. This, however, is where the story gets interesting.
At first glance, China's busy supermarkets are visions of plenty. Behind their shiny exteriors, however, is a re-stocking system that could generously be called "spotty". I still remember the day that my neighbourhood supermarket in Beijing simply stopped selling bacon. There was no explanation: it was as if it had never existed. I was disappointed, but took it in stride. Then, suddenly, the peanut butter disappeared.
Assuming it had been relocated in one of the supermarket's pointless bi-monthly reorganizations, I asked the store manager where I could find it.
"We don't have it any more," he said.
Worried, I continued: would they be getting more?
"We might get more, but we might not. I don't know."
And just like that, the peanut butter was gone, its place taken by a random selection of salted plums and something called meat floss. The next few days went by in a blur as the cold reality of life without peanut butter sank in.
When I saw peanut butter back on the shelves a week later, I was euphoric. That feeling came crashing down a moment later as I discovered that the variety on offer was a pirated version of Skippy. Now, I can understand a pirated handbag or coat, but I draw the line at knowingly eating knock-off food products — especially when each jar of supposedly identical peanut butter had its own distinct hue.
The Skippy did eventually return, but I had learned my lesson: I began stockpiling peanut butter in anticipation of the next shortage.
When I moved to Shanghai, I was dazzled. For the first few months after my arrival, I couldn't stop talking about my supermarket. Forget peanut butter — hell, it had balsamic vinegar!
How quickly the lessons of the past are forgotten.
By this time, my tastes in sandwiches had expanded, and I was venturing into recreational mayonnaise use. I thought I could stop any time. Little did I know I would be forced to quit cold turkey when it vanished from even the fancy foreign supermarkets.
What had happened? Who was to blame? How could an entire city of 19 million people suddenly run out of mayonnaise?
I pondered these questions for weeks, unable to find an answer.
And, just as suddenly as it had disappeared, the mayonnaise was back.
And what mayonnaise! The old standbys like Kraft were there, to be sure, but there was so much more. German brands I had no hope of pronouncing filled the shelves, their contents held suggestively within flexible tubes rather than the familiar, rigid jars. Light mayonnaise, "real" mayonnaise, spiced mayonnaise — it was all there.
I grabbed a selection and headed for the cashier. Standing in line was a friend of mine, his shopping basket filled with two dozen cans of tomato sauce, his eyes filled with a triumphant gleam. We nodded at each other knowingly — for today, at least, we were both victorious.
Somehow, amazingly, this post made me miss China. It's the small things like this that make my time there really memorable. These are the stories worth telling. Thanks!
Doolally
12-09-07, 07:33 PM
Grew up on it so I`m a PB authority. Crunchy FTW. Krunky close 2nd
Smooth, crunchy...but, krunky?
You can now get krazy ass drunk on pb and j?
Smooth, crunchy...but, krunky?
You can now get krazy ass drunk on pb and j?
Go_Fast
12-09-07, 07:38 PM
smooth - it spreads easier on the female body...
gbcb
12-09-07, 07:50 PM
That's funny - biggest problem in the UK is companies like Green&Blacks, Ben&Jerry, etc., being bought out and immediately changing recipes and ingredients. Bang went my supply of decent ice cream and chocolate hazelnut spread.
When I lived in a 3rd world country, supermarkets would sometimes stock production over-runs of export food. While China isn't 3rd world could it be occasional excess stock manufactured and bottled in China?
Hmm... could be. I'm pretty sure the peanut butter is made here, but the mayonnaise is definitely imported. But yeah, it sucks when your favourite treat suddenly changes or disappears!
When I lived in a 3rd world country, supermarkets would sometimes stock production over-runs of export food. While China isn't 3rd world could it be occasional excess stock manufactured and bottled in China?
Hmm... could be. I'm pretty sure the peanut butter is made here, but the mayonnaise is definitely imported. But yeah, it sucks when your favourite treat suddenly changes or disappears!
EJ123
12-09-07, 08:07 PM
Crunchy!
BananaTugger
12-09-07, 08:08 PM
Crunchy, plz.
DieselDan
12-09-07, 08:10 PM
Smooth.
donnamb
12-09-07, 08:16 PM
Almond butter...raw
I eat it roasted - but no salt.
I eat it roasted - but no salt.
Lecterman
12-09-07, 08:32 PM
Sunflower seed butter is teh roxzor. Short of that, me likes craunchah.
Sixty Fiver
12-09-07, 08:36 PM
Natural crunchy...with Hagen Das vanilla ice cream.
KingTermite
12-09-07, 08:48 PM
There is only smooth. If I wanted to eat peanuts, I would.
+1
+1
donnamb
12-09-07, 08:53 PM
Sunflower seed butter is teh roxzor. Short of that, me likes craunchah.
Hm, I need to try that...
Hm, I need to try that...
cydisc
12-09-07, 09:58 PM
Crunchy is just peanut butter that is not done.
KingTermite
12-09-07, 10:30 PM
Crunchy is just peanut butter that is not done.
Hahaaa!!! Another +1. :D
Hahaaa!!! Another +1. :D
gbcb
12-09-07, 11:11 PM
Somehow, amazingly, this post made me miss China. It's the small things like this that make my time there really memorable. These are the stories worth telling. Thanks!
Hey, no problem! You're right about it being the small things -- like the time my landlord came to renovate my apartment and stripped to his boxers in front of me before trying to paint the bathroom with what turned out to be glue. Or the time I ordered some random thing on the menu at a dodgy hotpot restaurant that turned out to be raw pork brains :eek: (the waitress kept running over to our table shouting "NOT YET! NOT YET!" when we tried to take them out of the pot). Where were you in China?
Hey, no problem! You're right about it being the small things -- like the time my landlord came to renovate my apartment and stripped to his boxers in front of me before trying to paint the bathroom with what turned out to be glue. Or the time I ordered some random thing on the menu at a dodgy hotpot restaurant that turned out to be raw pork brains :eek: (the waitress kept running over to our table shouting "NOT YET! NOT YET!" when we tried to take them out of the pot). Where were you in China?
glenng
12-09-07, 11:59 PM
Crunchy +8.
Crunchy is winning!:p
Crunchy is winning!:p
gbcb
12-10-07, 12:19 AM
"Lo, my brother Esau is a crunchy man, but I am a smooth man." :p
Actually I go for both, leaning toward crunchy.
Actually I go for both, leaning toward crunchy.
PhilThee
12-10-07, 01:21 AM
:eek:
hmmm, where might you be be depositing it???
oh, and smooth.
:eek: OH man you NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAtsy
hmmm, where might you be be depositing it???
oh, and smooth.
:eek: OH man you NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAtsy
PhilThee
12-10-07, 01:27 AM
smooth - it spreads easier on the female body...
:beer: Smoooooooooth
:beer: Smoooooooooth
powerhouse
12-10-07, 02:29 AM
I prefer smooth.
polara426sh
12-10-07, 04:31 AM
It can be peanut butter jelly time (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8MDNFaGfT4)?
Stacey
12-10-07, 04:46 AM
Smove!