Fried sandwich nod to our heritage

They don't overwhelm my day, but a lot of random thoughts never leave my mind:

• Had the NCAA handled Melky Cabrera's failed drug test on behalf of Major League Baseball, would it follow precedent by vacating the National League's All-Star Game win, but not award the American League the victory and give us the first World Series that nobody gets to host?
• I bet some people illegally download movies because they can start the movie without being forced to sit through warnings about the dangers of illegally downloading movies.
• I wonder what this would taste like grilled and/or fried.

The theory was tested one night when I wanted dessert, but didn't want to go through the trouble of following a recipe. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich sounds good, but it's not quite enough ... but coat the outside with butter and grill it like a sandwich, and it's the best dessert I've ever been secretly ashamed of.

I was reminded of that dessert last week, when we were planning for coverage of the Curry County Fair. A vendor was selling a fried PB&J.

Every time I hear about a new fair food — nine times out of 10, it's fried — my reaction is, "What is wrong with people?" But a PBJ sounds comparatively reasonable, and a nod to this area's heritage:

• Portales is home to the Sunland peanut plant. In operation since 1988, the plant features the Valencia peanut and sells numerous types of peanut butter across the country and in its outlet store. New Mexico grows 1 percent of the nation's peanuts, according to a release from New Mexico State University, but it's accountable for 90 percent of the country's Valencia peanuts.
• In tandem, Eastern New Mexico hosts the Peanut Valley Festival every year in its Campus Union Building.
• The peanut butter and jelly sandwich even has steakhouse history in the area. A quick call to Cattle Baron in Portales will let you know it's not currently the case, the restaurant did prominently feature a peanut butter sandwich on its menu. It was always listed as a joke.

I went to the fair, and tracked down the fried PBJ vendor. I was told there were no sandwiches that night, but he'd have some the next day. I adjusted, wrote a feature about fair food overall and promised to come back the next night — but not until after I'd nabbed a plate of fried brownies. They were $5, and while sharing them with a friend I swore I would have paid an additional $10 at that moment for a glass of milk. She could only manage a silent nod.

I went back later in the week and grabbed one. The battered, fried Texas Toast sandwich on the outside tasted what a fresh Krispy Kreme might be without the sugar. The inside was not too hot, and just the right mix of fruit and peanuts. However, it wasn't all that different from the sandwiches I'd made before.

My grilled dessert delights will probably never see the fair circuit, but it's good to know that I'm not the only one with a crazy idea that turned delicious. I can only hope my next random thought is just as tasty, and that I remember the glass of milk.

Kevin Wilson is a columnist for Clovis Media Inc. He can be contacted at 763-3431, ext. 313, or by email: [email protected]