I Tried the Stupid PB&J Sandwich with Mustard on Top
On Friday, Washington Post sports editor and friend of mine Dan Steinberg ratio’ed himself into oblivion when he posted this photo of a peanut butter–and-jelly sandwich overrun by a primordial glob of yellow mustard:
“This is something I’ve wanted to try for a while” is merely one haunting part of that tweet, and yet the sentiment haunts me perhaps even more than the photo of a Jamwich being treated like a stadium hotdog. The idea that Steinberg, a certified epicurean, had been tempted by the notion of a mustard PB&J for a while (years?) disturbs me even more than the fact that he finally went ahead and ate one and enjoyed it. He enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he steadfastly refuses to take the L on Twitter, retweeting praise from other psychotics who also swear by the sandwich.
I made fun of Steinz for his tweet, because there’s nothing I enjoy more than bullying my own friends online. Never gets old. He insisted that I just try it and I told him to fuck off. But well, content beckons now, doesn’t it? It’s better to mock people when you have evidence on your side, and so I decided to do my journalistic duty and try the sandwich myself. I swore to keep an open mind about the whole thing, while also secretly hoping the mustard would prove bilious so that I could roast Steinberg even more for his culinary proclivities.
I told my wife what I was gonna do. She made a face (she doesn’t like mustard) and then asked with concern, “Do you have to eat the WHOLE thing?” Girl, not if it sucks, I don’t.
I started off making a standard PB&J on whole wheat. I even cut the crusts off, to mimic the presentation of Steinberg’s hellwich. Now it was time for the mustard garnish. Bereft of ballpark mustard, I had to use Grey Poupon instead. Watery mustard runoff came out of the bottle first, soaking the bread. Shit. Here is what the sandwich ended up looking like. Imagine me passing this from the back of one limo to a fellow aristocrat sitting in the back of a limo alongside mine:
If that looks unappetizing on your computer, I assure you that seeing it in reality doesn’t improve matters.
But hey, I like mustard, and I like PB&J. So I took a bite, and lemme tell you: Dijon mustard did NOT improve the PB&J experience. It wasn’t sickening. It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve eaten. I managed to get the whole bite down without gagging or anything. But it’s not exactly a joy to eat a PB&J and have the flavor of mustard linger on your palate for a long time afterward. I am trained to find this combination unnatural, and trying it for the first time did not blow my mind and change the very core of what I know flavor to be. It tasted like a PB&J someone accidentally smeared mustard on. No more, no less. I ate the rest of the sandwich without mustard, because I am not a serial killer. Also, I hate wasting food.
If you like odd peanut butter combinations like PB-and-mayo (GAHHHHHH!), maybe this will be your thing. But if you’re like Steinz and you hope to kick off a sandwich revolution with this shit, you’re gonna end up disappointed. Maybe try starting a peanut butter and Caesar salad dressing fad next time instead. What could go wrong?
