A while back, I bought myself a food processor because I wanted to make myself some homemade peanut butter. I have a problem where I want all the peanut butter I can have and this seemed like a practical solution. The peanut butter I made turned out quite well considering I hadn’t made it before and I was using the cheapest food processor on the shelf at the local Foxtrot.
During one of my peanut butter mashing madness parties, my landlord and landlady stopped by to collect my rent or my bills or to get paint, I can’t remember which. I apologized for the obvious mess in my kitchen because Ukraine has changed my sense of ownership in an apartment. They asked what I was making and I tried my hardest to explain what it was since it’s not found on the shelves here. I offered them a taste.
My landlady tried a spoon of it and loved it. I can still see her reaction. It made me happy because it suggested I wasn’t crazy for loving this so much.
Fast forward to this past New Years when I took a trip to Poland. I found peanut butter easily in the supermarket and knew I had to buy a few jars of it. I bought two, one for me and one as a gift for my landlady. I stowed them in my bags and headed to the airport to return to Ukraine. I worried about the security check because I wasn’t checking any bags but the man who checked my bag let the peanut butter through and he even let a bottle of hot sauce which was over the 100mL limit through. It felt good.
But in Vienna, things changed. I had about 30 minutes to get from my arrival gate to my departure gate which included a passport and security check. I bolted from line to line. At the security check, the woman found my hot sauce and immediately told me it’s over the limit and tossed it in the trash. I let it go because it was over the limit.
But when she touched my peanut butter, when she touched my landlady’s peanut butter, things crossed the line. She told me it wasn’t allowed. At the time, I was convinced peanut butter was fine because as far as I’m concerned, it’s not a liquid (I later checked and the TSA specifically states peanut butter is on the no fly list). It holds its shape outside of a container. I started yelling, delaying myself in trying to save what was dear to me. She had no sympathy. I had five minutes before my plane took off so I left her with a, “Whatever lady, you’ve ruined my day.” And she had.
Today, I had to drop my rent money off at my landlord and landlady’s apartment. Before I did, however, I noticed I had some homemade peanut butter sitting in a jar in the fridge. I quickly transferred it to a nicer container and I set out the door to deliver the money and what I considered to be far more valuable than gold.
She was delighted with her gift. She practically ran into the kitchen and started slicing bread so she could eat some of the peanut butter.
It’s nice to know that I can make something with my hands, something from my culture, and have it well received, even if only by a small audience, in this foreign culture.