Tenth Musee

I noticed last night that in commercials for Oreo cookies, the people in different commercials all eat their Oreo exactly the same way: twist open, lick once, put back together, then dunk and eat. I don’t feel Oreo is best representing a wide cross-section of Oreo eaters. It’s like they’re trying to set some kind of Oreo-eating standard.  I have never in my entire life met anyone whose Oreo Process™ was that.

Oh, I don’t doubt they’re out there — those who absolutely must eat their Oreo just like they do in the commercial. But what about the artists? The rebels? What about those who just bite into it as-is?  What about those who (*gasp!*) couldn’t give a damn about the “creme” filling?  What about those who consume sans milk?!

Personally, my Oreo Process is as follows:

• Nibble off the top cookie in little bites like a mouse.
• Scrape off the “creme” filling with my bottom teeth in small bits. Never lick.
• Nibble bottom cookie at my leisure.
• Store on my thighs for Winter.

I’m not saying it should be done like this, per se. I just don’t understand why Oreo feels they have to force their belief system on the rest of us.  We’re buying and eating your cookie, Nabisco. What more do you want from us?  Our souls?

So I’m pondering my dinner tonight and decide I want a PB & J.  It’s hotter than hell, I’ve already got the oven fired up doing some more baking and I just don’t feel like cooking an actual meal, so a peanut butter and jelly sammich seems like the easiest thing.

There’s an art to the PB & J, I think.  Sure, you can slap each on some bread, smoosh and you’re out the door, but one can craft a truly beautiful PB & J with the proper ingredients.  For me, peanut butter and jelly perfection consists of JIF.  Not Skippy, not Peter Pan and sure as hell not that Old-Fashioned-Oil-at-the-Top-Gotta-Stir-It-Reminds-Me-of-Olestra Laura Scudders crap.  It’s JIF and JIF only in this house.  Of course, I’m not inflexible.  I oscillate between crunchy and smooth—occasionally extra-crunchy.  More often than not, it’s smooth, though.

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I was absolutely appalled this morning to see not one, but two women open up her car door in traffic and spit.  I kid  you not!  Spit. I couldn’t believe it.  And they were within 10 minutes of each other, too.  When I saw the first woman do it, I thought to myself, “Ew.  That’s…vile.”, but chalked it up to it being a hoochie with 2 inch roots in a Tempo and went about my day.

The second woman really sent me over the edge.  A well-dressed, extremely put-together woman in her late 20’s, maybe early 30’s in a Lexus, while sitting at a traffic light, just flung open her door and hocked one right on the concrete.  It wasn’t even discreet or ladylike in any fashion.  I thought maybe she’d found something floating in her coffee or something, but even then, crack the door, be discreet, or hell! Spit it back in the cup and get a fresh one when you get to work.  Don’t make me have to watch it!  It made me thankful my mom instilled manners in me at an early age.  Gah.

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Statia mentioned this morning about weird food quirks.  Sarah and I had a whole diatribe on Food Procedures. Things you just shouldn’t eat without a ritual or ceremony of some sort.  Some things that fall into that category:

Oreos

Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups

Twinkies

Corn on the cob

Toast

PB & J sammiches

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