This is the Palate Cleanser, aka our little break between dinner party themes, where I get to write about whatever I want. Lately, I’ve been using this space to air out some neuroses, of which I, apparently, have many. You can read about my self-imposed week in hell right here. And if you missed last month’s Very AI Christmas Party, you can check out the first newsletter from that series here.
Do you remember a little flick called The Peanut Butter Solution? It’s a Canadian film about a kid named Michael who loses all of his hair after he breaks into a haunted mansion and catches “the Fright.” Ghosts from said mansion show him how to make a magic potion of peanut butter so that his hair grows back. He paints it all over the top of his head, but he uses too much and his hair begins to grow uncontrollably, and then another kid puts it “down there” because he wants it to look like he’s gone through puberty, and theeeen his art teacher, Signor, kidnaps him and creates a sweatshop of children to make magic paintbrushes from his ever-growing tresses. It’s a terrifying children’s film that still haunts the members of my generation. But I digress...
Here we are, it’s almost February. It’s been a weird time. I’m just getting back into the swing of things after a month-long stint in Texas, and a brutal case of writer’s block - which is why you’re reading this a couple weeks later than you should be. So far, I’ve spent most of the month pacing around my house, stopping to look out the window at a cute lil’ bird, then back to pacing. I’ll do a few stretches, open the fridge, close the fridge. Eat a spoonful of peanut butter straight from the jar. More pacing. Sit on the couch, sit on the floor. Lay in bed. Stare at the ceiling. It’s a really cool mix of exhaustion and hyperactivity that can best be described as… (see photo below).
I can't get anything done. It’s not that I don’t want to get things done, it’s just that I simply cannot. The fact that these words are gracing a page at all is nothing short of a miracle. It’s times like these I miss having a regular job. Forced accountability. Forced focus. Forced human interaction. Forced fake it till you make it! The world just feels too heavy right now. There is an underlying current of sadness. But this doesn’t feel like a personal issue, it feels communal. Lately, almost everyone I’ve spoken to feels similarly. We are all getting caught in the undertow. You’ve heard of the collective consciousness. Well, I think our collective consciousness is depressed. That’s not to say there aren’t wonderful things happening out there - engagements, awards, new love, old love, good friends, puppies, babies and butterflies all exist. But beneath it all is a jagged apathy, we’re all just pacing around and eating peanut butter from a jar.
The thing is, there’s lots to be anxious and depressed about. I think one of the issues is that we have access to too much information. As a species, we evolved in small, close-knit tribes. We aren’t meant to know everything that’s going on in the whole entire world all the time. And we certainly don’t need to see how fill-in-the-blank-random-person-from-Instagram’s vacation went, or read about their global health concerns, or watch their latest kitchen hack. I have information fatigue. My brain has short-circuited. It’s overloaded. And listen, yes, it’s important to stay informed on all the atrocities happening right now. Of course we need to be aware of these things so that we can work to make the world a better place. But most of us aren’t really doing anything. We’re just aware of how shitty it all is, and then we go back to pacing, or watching mind-numbing videos on social media.
It’s not that we don’t want the world to be a better place. My guess is that, in a poll of every living human, almost all would say yes to “making things better.” But it feels like the entire world is in a pit. We are all oiled up, sliding around, slinging mud at each other. We can’t see, breathe or taste anything other than mud. We’ve been eating so many mud pies, in fact, that we’ve forgotten what a good pie actually tastes like. (Now, there is such a thing as a Mississippi Mud Pie, which is quite delicious, but I’m clearly not talking about those types of mud pies.)
The types of pies I’m talking about - dirty, mud-slinging pies, can certainly be fun to make, but when it comes to anything else, particularly ingestion, they just don’t cut it. If we want to thrive and live happy little lives, a homemade fruit pie is definitely the way to go. My favorite time to make a fruit pie is in the summer, when peaches are in season. If I’m lucky, I’ll have some ripe Fredericksburg, Texas peaches on hand (yes, they grow peaches in Texas, and yes they are delicious.) I peel them, crush them with my hands (never chop them), then I add a scoop of sugar, and about a tablespoon of flour. Maybe I’ll add some cinnamon and lemon juice, if the peaches require it. I’ll pile it all into a homemade crust, top it with a lattice and bake it until the filling becomes thick and juicy and starts bubbling up over the sides to caramelize. The parts of the crust with the caramelized juices on it are always the best. But I digress…
Summer is a long way away. I am still here in late January, trying my best not to watch all those mind-numbing videos on social media. They can be so funny and inspiring sometimes! But in the end, I really don’t like how I feel after watching them. I swear to God, I’m one pointless TikTok trend away from throwing my phone in the trash, moving to the middle of nowhere and becoming a luddite, a la Henry David Thoreau.
But here’s where the cognitive dissonance comes in. The irony, if you will. Social media is supposedly my friend, my ally. Through it, I can spread the gospel of how smart and cool and talented I am (and also sexy). I can’t grow my presence, or share my ideas in an impactful way, without the use of it. I make mind-numbing videos - I’d be a fool not to! And I would love to be the source of any TikTok trend. So, I continue to be a hypocrite, suggesting we all avoid social media as I blatantly post and ask that you follow my accounts. Maybe this is the root of all my pacing around. Damned If I do, damned if I don’t. It’s a catch-22.
I don’t have an answer for any of this just yet, so in the meantime, here’s a recipe for a Magic Peanut Butter Milkshake Solution. (You’ll have to wait till summer to get my peach pie recipe.) This milkshake is not technically magic, and it certainly won’t solve any of the world’s issues, but there’s something lovely about a cold, creamy milkshake in the middle of winter. It’s like wearing monochrome. Your food matches the weather - cold on cold. Plus it’s so much tastier than eating peanut butter straight from the jar, (or a mud pie, for that matter). It also gives you some extra calories to burn off, in case you’ve been pacing around as much as I have. I don’t personally recommend painting any of it on your head or nether-regions, but hey, whatever floats your boat.
Magic Peanut Butter Milkshake Solution
makes 1
1/4 cup milk - coconut, oat, nut or cow
1 cup chocolate ice cream (or vanilla, if you prefer)
2 tablespoons creamy peanut butter
1 tablespoon Magic Shell,* plus extra for drizzling
Whipped cream and a cherry on top, optional
Add the milk, ice cream and peanut butter to a blender and blend until smooth. Pour 1/3 of the solution into a glass, spoon 1/3 of the Magic Shell on top. Pour another 1/3 into the glass, then repeat with the Magic Shell. Pour the rest on top, then the last of the Magic Shell. Give it a stir to shatter the Magic. Top with whipped cream and a cherry, if you want, and a final drizzle of Magic Shell.
*To make your own Magic Shell, simply melt 2 ounces of semisweet chocolate with 1 tablespoon of coconut oil.
Stay tuned for the next dinner party theme, coming soon! I’m playing around with the format for these and may change it up a bit, but I promise you I’ll still be the same smart, cool, talented (and sexy) Courtney McBroom that you’ve all grown to love.
See you soon.
<3 McBroom
PS - I didn’t post a single thing while visiting Texas, so here is evidence that I was actually there. 100% Texas born and bred BBQ brisket from Terry Blacks in Lockhart. 10/10. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
On top of what you said about us not being wired to know everything, there's also been such a spike in how that information is presented or discussed in a way that dehumanizes other people. It's all very exhausting -- and it's only January. But it was nice to read this from start to finish and feel proud for getting through an entire article feeling thoughtful about what I just read. And thirsty for something cold and sweet.