Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Not Hungry in America

This morning I thought I'd have some almond butter with a banana for breakfast. It's considered to be quite healthy, much more beneficial than peanut butter for reasons I won't pretend to understand. But I've read it often enough and so I buy the stuff in hopes of living forever. (Not consciously of course, but I'm guessing that's the root of my decision.)

Right now we have two different brands of almond butter in the cupboard. One is in a plastic tub, having been ground from almonds right there in the market in that big machine in the bulk food aisle. It's 100% almonds with nothing added, and starts out with the consistency of wet cement. Within days, sometimes hours, it turns into a block of dry cement, making it challenging to eat. The other is in a glass jar, and while still "all-natural" and "organic," it needs no stirring. It is in fact as loose as a goose and looks a lot like turkey gravy. It calls for a piece of bread, not a banana. In an attempt to come up with something I can use, I combine the two kinds and create a gloppy mess with some pebbly lumps.

My quandary reminds me of the saying, "Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink." I flash on all the poor people who have no almond butter at all and tell myself to be thankful for my bounty. Still, both brands seem inedible. This is because I grew up in America, in a middle-class home with too many choices and not enough suffering. I'm sorry about that, but still, here I am and it's too late for me now. I can feel sorry for all the hungry people, but I can't be one for too long; once a year on Yom Kippur is about all I can take, and even then I usually cave before sunset.

I guess I'll have eggs.

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