This weekend my host-mother made me breakfast like always. I arrived at the table groggy and hungry only to find the usual. Now, most of us in Korea would be ecstatic to eat peanut butter and jelly every morning instead of the dreaded fish stew. Well, let me tell you folks, and I never thought I'd say this, but I am sick and tired of PB&J. Anyway, I sat down at the table to see the same set up every morning that's ingrained in my memory. A plate of lightly toasted bread, faintly smelling of cuddle fish, the two jars of 'yin and yang' to the left with a spoon next to them, and a glass of milk towering above it all. Well, as I sat there stuffing large amounts of bread and peanut butter down my throat my host-mother just stared at me with a solemn expression and scouring eyes at the table. Reminiscent of the Aaron Burr Got Milk commercial, I thought I'd said something intelligent, maybe even arrogantly witty, but since my Korean is barely decipherable without a chunk of esophagus clogging goo, I doubt she understood my query of "what?". Instead she left the room only to return 5 minutes later with my host-sister who said, "Alexuh, don't eat peanut buttah. Food. Food po--" As she attempted to pronounce the last word she showed me her electronic dictionary which said, "Food Poisoning". All the while my host-mom had left the room, I had scarfed down the rest of my all-American breakfast, including the milk to wash it down. I sat there scared and shocked. Then I was angry, for why... WHY?!?! Why would my host-mother watch me eat the rest of that sandwich, but wait... WHY?!?! Why would she even put it out on the table with a spoon next to it inviting me to indulge in a little recalled peanut butter from America. As my sister and I stared at each other wondering when I would croak and die, my host-mother casually grabbed the jar, opened it up, and sniffed it. She said something to me, but I understood only a little. I gathered that on the news last night had been a warning about all peanut butter products imported from the U.S., and that I should not eat it anymore. Thanks, lady. Thanks for rushing to my aid by putting it on the table and allowing me to serve up a healthy serving of a George Washington Carver orgasm.

Let me ask you something. If you knew a food product had been recalled for possible contamination, would you put the jar back into the fridge? Because I just looked in there and it's on the second shelf, waiting for my memory lapse to arrive so she can poison me.