I Miss Trash

Here’s a confession that feels disloyal to the beautiful life I’ve built here: sometimes I don’t want hunted venison with foraged chanterelle cream sauce. Sometimes I want garbage.

Specific garbage. American garbage. The kind you can’t get anymore.

I have a small stash of Skippy and Reese’s peanut butter in my cupboard – three, maybe four jars – from before the tariffs made importing American peanut butter financially absurd. I’m rationing them like trashy caviar. A spoonful here. A secret sandwich there. Hoarding my processed, over-sweetened, objectively worse peanut butter like it’s contraband.

Because here’s the thing about Finnish peanut butter: it’s good. It’s natural. It’s actual peanuts, less sugar, no weird oils. It’s better for you in every measurable way.

I don’t want it.

I want the exact oversweetened paste of my childhood. The particular mouth-feel of Skippy Extra Smooth on white bread. The wrongness that is also exactly right.

I’ve been here long enough to watch peanut butter go from a rarity only found in expat specialty shops to something every supermarket carries multiple brands of. But they’re European brands, with strict ingredient laws. The palm oil backlash has made everything even more militantly natural. You’re stuck with quality whether you want it or not.

You know you’ve been an expat too long when the appearance of canned nacho cheese at Prisma gives you a pang of longing so specific it stops you in the international foods aisle.

I spotted it on the shelf back in 2017 – Santa Maria Nacho Cheese Dip, alarmingly orange, absolutely not real cheese – and suddenly I was back at high school football games in California, standing at the concession stand with a paper tray of tortilla chips and a crock pot of that stuff. Overly salted. That plasticky sheen. Exactly what I wanted.

I’ve eaten it straight from the can with tortilla chips for lunch. People look at me like I’ve lost my mind.

Maybe I have. But comfort food isn’t about quality. It’s about specificity. The Kraft Single doesn’t melt the same way as actual cheese — that’s not a flaw, that’s the point. You can’t substitute your way to the same feeling.

I tried to make trashy rice krispie treats last week. Reese’s-style, with peanut butter and chocolate. The kind you’d find at a church bake sale in a Midwestern basement, wrapped in plastic wrap and priced at fifty cents.

Here’s what I used:

  • Oivariini (Finnish butter-oil blend) instead of regular butter
  • Natural peanut butter instead of Skippy (I couldn’t sacrifice my stash)
  • Finnish vaahtokarkit instead of Jet-Puffed marshmallows
  • European baking chocolate instead of Nestlé Toll House chips
  • Ruokakerma (Finnish cooking cream) for the ganache instead of just… melting the chips

You see the problem.

I tried to make trash. I made “Peanut Butter Rice Crisp Bars with Chocolate Ganache, €4.50 at the coffee shop.”

The ingredients wouldn’t let me be basic. Every substitution nudged it upscale against my will. Better chocolate, better cream, better butter – worse nostalgia.

They were delicious, obviously. My son grabbed one immediately, ate it in silence, and did a little dance after the first bite. My husband did a double-take walking past the kitchen and snagged one post-shower.

But they weren’t the same. And that’s fine. And also a little sad. And also pretty funny, actually.

Missing home isn’t just missing places. It’s missing textures. Tastes that don’t translate. The particular sweetness of American peanut butter that no amount of Finnish quality can replicate.

I don’t want artisanal. I want the exact chemical nostalgia of a Reese’s cup from a gas station checkout line. The orange powder on my fingers from a bag of Cheetos. The specific chew of a Chips Ahoy that definitely doesn’t qualify as a real cookie by European standards.

I’ve been here nearly fifteen years. My freezer is full of hunted venison and foraged mushrooms. My pantry tells the story of a life built in Finland – the connections, the trades, the slow accumulation of belonging.

And also, I miss trash.

Both things are true.

Peanut Butter Rice Krispie Bars with Chocolate Ganache

a.k.a. “Accidentally Fancy Trash”

Makes 12 bars

For the base:

  • 6 cups Rice Krispies (~180g)
  • 40g oivariini (or butter)
  • 300g marshmallows (vaahtokarkit)
  • ¼ cup natural peanut butter (~65g), well-stirred

For the ganache:

  • 200g chocolate chips (leivontasuklaa)
  • 100ml ruokakerma

Method:

Line a 9×13 pan with baking paper for easy removal.

Melt oivariini in a large pot over low heat. Add marshmallows, stirring constantly until you have smooth glossy lava with no lumps.

Take it OFF the heat before stirring in the peanut butter – natural PB can separate if it’s too hot. Work fast.

Fold in Rice Krispies quickly before it sets, then press into your lined pan. Don’t pack too hard or they’ll be dense. Wet hands help.

For the ganache: heat ruokakerma until just simmering (tiny bubbles at the edges – don’t boil). Pour over chocolate chips, wait one minute, then stir until smooth and glossy.

Spread ganache over the bars. Refrigerate 30-45 minutes to set.

Cut into 12 pieces. Try not to eat three of them standing at the counter.

Notes:

Store at room temperature for chewy base and soft ganache, or refrigerate for more snap. They’ll last 2-3 days if your family has more self-control than mine.

These are delicious. They’re also not what I set out to make. Finland wins again.

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