This time, it's personal

There are a few things I miss about Canada.  My friends.  My family.  Hockey.  And one thing I didn't realize I had feelings for:  peanut butter.  Back home, I took PB for granted.  It was always a stalwart in my cupboard, hanging out with the tea bags and expired condiments.  Sure, I'd come home late at night and want a quick something to satisfy my urges, but peanut butter was cool!  We had an understanding.  There was no judging, we just enjoyed the moment.

At least, I thought we had an understanding.  It turns out, PB is a fickle mistress.  Just because I'm having a midlife crisis, I can't expect my favourite spread to pick up and move to South America.  The first few times I went grocery shopping here, I tried not to let it bother me.  There were dazzling arrays of exotic jams, and more honey varieties than seemed necessary.  It was a brave new world of toast toppings, who needed boring old Skippy when I could have dulce de leche?  But something was nagging at me.

Back in the bad old days before the internets, it might have ended there.  Now, though, it only takes a few clicks to send someone on a wild goose chase through deepest BA for a sweet taste of lady legume.  I tried Google's suggestion to check out a dieticia, but no dice.  Then, I heard about Jumbo.  The Walmart of Chile, recently exported to Argentina!  After 10 days of dingy autoservecias, Jumbo seemed like a Kubrickian dream of spotless consumerism.  The liquor selection was unparallelled, but what really impressed me was how random booze popped up in EVERY section of the store.  Want to purchase some cheese?  Perhaps some Absolut Mango as well!  Looking for cereal for the kids?  Why not grab a bottle of Jack Daniel's, too!

After a double-take through the imported foods aisle (try the Smirnoff!), Mike finally noticed two jars of PB hidden between the Ichiban and Pringles.  It's not like I have a peanut butter fetish, but by this point, it felt like a sort of homecoming.