Food

The rock-filled sludge scraped from the bottom of a dirty aquarium.

Yup, that's how I feel about chunky peanut butter.

I'm a presentation girl. I appreciate texture. But appreciating texture means understanding when its absence is the better option.

There are specific instances in life when lack of texture is necessary.

When leaning in to kiss your man …

Itchy stubble can be a moment-killer — and murder on a gal's delicate face.

When making homemade lemonade …

Starting with a sugar syrup will keep the refreshing potion grit- and grain-free.

When drawing in a freshly opened jar of peanut butter …

Really, does a butter knife glide smoothly through a mess of chunky goo? I th-i-nk not.

One of life's little thrills is making my mark on the smooth round canvas of a newly opened jar of creamy peanut butter. Mark of choice: a heart. I like to open the jar, draw a heart and leave it for my husband or daughter to find.

And while I'm thinking of matters of the heart (though not from a health standpoint, eh? Do not let the words 'fat' or 'calories' enter your mind.), let's discuss the grilled peanut butter sandwich.

Best I can tell, it's a Midwestern thing. My mama (hailing from Nebraska) makes the best ones — and often did when I was a child — for an easy supper. All the sammy needs is a glass of milk to make it a meal.

'Course, you'll have to devote a day's calories to this delicacy. No wimpy smattering of peanut butter will do. You gotta load it up. That goes for the grilling butter, too.

And it's just that simple. Make a grilled cheese, but substitute peanut butter for the cheese.

It'll be oozy.

It'll be good.

And the chunky stuff …

It just gets in the way.