MY FIRST TASTE OF AMERICA

I arrived in America, sometime toward the end of August, or beginning of September, 1938, at the age of twenty.  After having failed the pre-med exams at the University of London my family, or rather my parents, were fed up with me and gave me the sum of $300 American and a steamboat ticket from London to New York. One of my earliest memories of my new country is of walking into a snack bar on Broadway where I had gone to buy a 25 cent sandwich. I had bought the one that most appealed to me, among the six or seven sandwiches portrayed near the ceiling. I had ordered the “#3” sandwich, swayed by its appearance of whole wheat bread and the healthy-looking lettuce peeking out of it.

I was very hungry and, taking that first large bite, I was shocked to find that my gums were completely stuck together. I rushed into the alley where I could be unobserved, put my finger in my mouth and frantically scraped the brown goo from my palate. Ever since that day I have been revolted by the smell and by the appearance of that disgusting brown paste - peanut butter!

In later years, sitting at table with my young children, I felt forced to suppress this disgust as they munched heartily on what they considered a delicious snack.

H.D. Kirk