Spreading the love

It's back-to-school time, and for those feeling nostalgic for childhood, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the kids' menu at Flour Bakery + Cafe might hit the spot. It's the classic version - seeded raspberry jam and smooth peanut butter slathered on spongy, fresh-baked white bread, then cut in half and served on a napkin in a woven basket. "It's salty and sweet and not just popular with kids," says owner Joanne Chang.

It's not particularly popular with her, however. "I'm not a peanut butter fan," she says. "I love jelly, but for me PB&J would be emergency food, a last resort. Like if I were stranded on a desert island, I would maybe choose peanut butter over bugs."

Most people, at least those without peanut allergies, probably dig into the jar of nut butter more often than Chang does. After all, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is so simple a child can construct one for lunch or an after-school snack. Yet the flavors and textures are complex enough to intrigue some of the country's most respected chefs, and the classic has made its way from the brown bag to the copper-pan kitchen. It's a sandwich that appeals to almost everyone.

The possible permutations of its basic elements are endless. Versions can range from the remedial (Smucker's Uncrustables - packaged, frozen pre-made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with the crusts already cut off) to the clever (the Doughnut Plant, in New York, makes jelly doughnuts with peanut butter glaze) to the irreverently brilliant (the innovative restaurant Alinea in Chicago has served "PB&J": a single peeled, seedless green grape still on its stem, coated in house-made peanut butter and wrapped in toasted gossamer brioche).

Even though Skippy and Welch's on Wonder Bread may be the archetypal version, the genius of peanut butter and jelly is in the contrast of the salty and the sweet, and in the tartness of the fruit cutting through the fat of the nuts. It's a flavor combination like tomatoes and cheese or yogurt and honey: perfect.

That flavor profile is easy to play with. The presence of sweetness is more important than its particular source, so not every peanut butter sandwich has to have jelly. Elvis preferred peanut butter and banana (fried in butter, of course, and - according to legend - 12 sandwiches in a sitting). Peanut butter and honey, or, even better, Whole Foods' spread made from honey-roasted peanuts, is a supreme snack. Peanut butter spread on a Pop Tart is latch-key heaven.

Which proves that even the bread isn't essential. Peanut butter cookies spread with strawberry jelly do the trick, as do the Doughnut Plant's raised yeast doughnuts topped with peanut butter icing and filled with seasonal jellies they make in house. "Right now the filling is blueberry," says manager Haraka Das. "They're light and fluffy and most wonderful."

On his blog, amateurgourmet.com, New York-based food writer and cookbook author Adam Roberts posted about the invention of his Asian peanut butter sandwich - basically peanut sauce on toast with green onions and cilantro. "I had been at the movies, it was late, and I was improvising," says Roberts. "I wanted something with something green in it, so the peanut butter got tossed with soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, chili flakes and smothered in greens on toasted bread . . . it was a one-time thing, but it did work in some weird way."

Roberts's spicy and salty sandwich keeps savory, jellyless company with the peanut butter and bacon sandwich, and of course ants on a log, celery spread with peanut butter and dotted with raisins. There's also the peanut butter burger on the menu at Bukowski Tavern in Cambridge and in the Back Bay. "It's just a hamburger with a big glop of chunky peanut butter on top, " says manager Ian Murphy. "I think it's great. Lettuce, tomatoes, onions, ground beef, pickles, and peanut butter go surprisingly well together."

Then there's peanut butter and jelly's highbrow side. In fine dining restaurants, the classic combination has become the go-to dish to riff on with a wink.

When Alinea first opened, chef Grant Achatz served his now-famous take on peanut butter and jelly as the first bite on his seemingly endless tasting menu. "The basic flavor elements were there," says the chef, "and we paired it with a sherry that brought out the nuttiness of the peanut butter." Achatz wanted to prove to critics that he wasn't taking himself too seriously. "We wanted to do something that was quintessential Americana. People bit into it and were flooded with fond memories. PB&J is the kind of American comfort food that everyone can relate to. I think it worked. It disarmed a lot of people."

At home, Achatz makes PB&J for his 6-year-old and 3-year-old. "Sometimes I'll steal a bite of theirs, but I'm happier with a piece of fruit," he says. "PB&J is simple and humble, but there are still so many nuances: to toast or not, white or wheat, smooth or creamy, what kind of jam and how much. . . . It can be infinitely customized and still be just two pieces of bread with two sauces."

Achatz cut his culinary teeth as sous chef at the French Laundry in Yountville, Calif., where chef Thomas Keller has served peanut butter and jelly as a mignardise - the last bite of the meal. His take on the classic is peanut butter truffles, the balls of milk chocolate and peanut butter dipped in bittersweet chocolate and dusted with cocoa, then served with Concord grape and yuzu gelees.

Peanut butter and jelly has done its time on plates in Boston restaurants, as well - No. 9 Park has served a chocolate ganache cake with cassis compote and peanuts, and Gabriel Frasca, during his stint at Spire, paired PB&J with foie gras.

But sometimes even those with sophisticated palates just want to appreciate PB&J's humbler side. Susie Heller, a television and cookbook producer, who has worked on cookbook projects with Keller, says that peanut butter and jelly are staples in her Napa Valley kitchen. "I love peanut butter and jelly," she says. "If I've had a miserable day, I'll come home and say 'Oh, I don't care,' and I'll make a crunchy peanut butter and apricot jam or fig jam sandwich." Heller even stuffs her dog's marrow bones with peanut butter.

"In restaurants like the French Laundry and Alinea, so many of the great dishes refine these familiar flavors like peanut butter and jelly, or coffee and doughnuts, to trigger deep reactions that take the diner back to a time or place," says Heller. "That's great. But at home, peanut butter and jelly is just comfort food."