Betty Jane’s Peanut Brittle Has Made a Believer Out of Me

Peanut brittle and I haven’t been on speaking terms since, oh, junior high when, with a full set of adult chompers, I realized that one of two things will happen when I bite into the hardened treat: I’ll either crack a bicuspid (or feel like I did) or spend the rest of the afternoon prying the sticky matter from the divots in my teeth.

No thank you. The joys of brittle, I determined long ago, simply weren’t worth the dental troubles.

Earlier this week, however, a friend and colleague gave me a 12-ounce bag of Betty Jane’s “gourmet” peanut brittle, which was made by one of her Vienna neighbors. My friend even gave me a sample from her own stock, which was down to small broken pieces, crumbs, and brown dust. She was practically embarrassed by her rate of peanut brittle consumption.

Less than two days later, I understand. My 12 ounces are gone (although I had some help from Loose Lips, who obviously made unauthorized raids on my stash while I was away), and now I’m looking for my next fix. Fast!

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