1. MAKE A LIST. As you complete each step, it must be documented for posterity. This sandwich will be remembered. Keep the list simple--this task should be simple if proper attention is paid. You have the eye for detail the project requires. Only you. You know there should be no more than seven items on this list. Seven is lucky. Luck, though, will only take you so far.
2. Assemble the tools: butter knife and plate.
3. Set the mise en place--peanut butter, jelly, and bread--before you.
4. Place two slices of bread on the platter.
agreed is likely the best bread for this pursuit.
wooden block of knives on your kitchen counter.
5. Spread the peanut butter on one side of one piece of bread.
6. Spread the jelly on one side of the other piece of bread.
jelly. Peach jalapeno jelly. Raspberry jam. Kiwi jam.
Bacon jam. You pictured grape jelly. But what kind?
make jelly? What if they already had?
1a. Have a stiff drink. Two fingers of scotch.
tasting grape jelly available in the world.
6a. The amount of jelly spread on the bread should be in equal proportion to the amount of peanut butter on the other slice.
5a. Realize you should have further considered how much peanut butter is the perfect amount of peanut butter. Be haunted by the amount of peanut butter you put on the other slice of bread. Was it too much? Not enough? It looked perfect at the outset, but now that the amount of jelly is being considered it seems impossible that it did not occur to you to use caution in your application of the peanut butter.
5b. Scrape some of the peanut butter off of the bread.
5c. Decide the amount of peanut butter remaining looks too skimpy.
5d. Decide that the perfect amount of peanut butter is the amount of peanut butter currently on the bread.
7. Put the two slices together so that peanut butter meets jelly.
7a. Realize this step, the actual completion of the sandwich, is the simplest and least debatable. These elements were meant to be brought together. You were meant to forge this sandwich, this pinnacle of culinary achievement. It is done. The sandwich is before you. Tears run down your cheek and drop onto your sweat-stained shirt.
Erika Murdey earned her MA in English language and literature at Central Michigan University, where she focused on fiction writing. This year she will be entering the MFA program in fiction at the University of Alaska-Anchorage.
8. The recipe for the "perfect" anything never includes the devouring of it. The recipe will inform how many may be served this piece of perfection, maybe provide suggestions for accompaniments, but never delve in to how it should be eaten. Knife and fork? Spoon? Chopsticks? Bare hands? The approach seems obvious for a sandwich, but has the matter been given enough thought? And now that the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich has been created, what are the consequences? If something perfect exists in this imperfect world, what will happen if the sandwich is eaten? When it is gone from Earth will the ground shake? Will the absence of it, once created, shatter the barrier between this universe and the next? What right had you to create this perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich? And are you even the most worthy specimen of humanity to eat it? This sandwich. Is it made for a president? A king? A god? The thought occurs--What recipe has ever considered whether or not the creation should even be eaten at all? This sandwich. This perfect assemblage of hand-ground peanut butter and beautifully crafted Concord grape jelly on half-inch slices of toothsome artisanal honey wheat bread, displayed atop a Waterford crystal pedestal, would become the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a bite taken out of it, then two bites, soon six, then, consumed, nothing. Or would that first bite be the deciding factor? It must. But, is it possible that you have not made the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich? What if this list is not a testament to your accomplishment but a warning for others to heed? Could it be a guide another will follow, a more virtuous and dedicated sandwich-maker? You had gathered the best man had to offer in making this sandwich; but what if the freshest, best ingredients that could be assembled had deteriorated over several trips to several stores and the scotch-soothed mental breakdown that occurred from the undertaking of such a monumental task? Had the sandwich's moment of perfection already passed? Had it ever been achieved?