"What’s in a name" is a phrase coined by the Bard of Avon. When the phrase first came in to use, it referred to flowers, roses to be exact.

Today names, especially famous brand names, represent a product, the value of a product, and the quality of a product. The brand name, often heavily advertised, implies that the company that manufactures the product is trustworthy, as well as willing to guarantee the quality of the product.

My daughter’s family understood that to be the case where the family peanut butter supply was concerned. My grandson loved Peter Pan peanut butter. That was the only brand allowed in that household.

My grandson’s love for the peanut butter that bore the name of one of his childhood storybook idols came to a screeching halt when Peter Pan paired up with salmonella. The young man went as far as giving up peanut butter, period.

The goodness, implied by the brand name, has been slightly tarnished. Peter Pan peanut butter is manufactured by ConAgra, which prides itself in being "America’s favorite food supplier." According to the information on Google, that may no longer be the case. My grandson equated the name Peter Pan peanut butter with Peter Pan the childhood storybook hero. Perhaps that was why he felt that a peanut butter by that name had to be good. Disillusionment has its consequences. We won’t be buying Peter Pan peanut butter again, and the name ConAgra brings to mind unscrupulous big business.

The peanut butter calamity came hot on the heels of another incident, again with a food item. Again, the question is what’s in a name?

The trade name was that of a well established food manufacturer. The name of the food was Chunky Chili. It was good in taste and came in handy when time and energy made opening a can the preferred choice for preparing a meal. The taste was excellent until I bit down on something that was neither chunky nor chili. Nor was it meat or bone. It was green and hard.

Closer examination under the microscope indicated that it could possibly be plastic.

I wrote to the company and requested that someone come to my house and examine the item. The company said that was not possible and requested that I mail the item. I reluctantly mailed it to the company. To make certain I would have proof of the matter, I took a picture of the can and its contents before I shipped them off to Camden, New Jersey. I wasn’t asking for a million dollars. I simply wanted to know what that little green thing was and where it came from.

Months went by. Then one day I received a reply. It was an apology and affirmation that the item was indeed plastic. Unfortunately, I was told that the item was not traceable to its origin.

What’s in a name? The can had identifying information printed on the bottom. The brand name was there as well. The contents were also there. The little green morsel was big enough to use as bait on a trout hook. It was big enough that someone could have choked on it. It may have been chunky, but it wasn’t Chunky Chili.

The entire episode served as a lesson. File and folder on the infamous soup debacle are in the computer, along with other similar material.

As a lesson, the incident is proof that manufacturers of even the best brands are not necessarily honest about the goods they manufacture. If they make chunky chili on a green plastic table and parts of the table are converted to chunky chili, someone is not exercising quality control. If manufacturers of food no longer stand behind the quality of their produced goods, we stand a good chance of frequenting the Emergency Room just to stay alive. I am not about to purchase another can of soup, or whatever this manufacturer puts in a can. Nor will I believe whatever advertisement floats their boat.

As a matter of fact, my whole extended family and some of my friends have given up the desire to purchase canned goods sporting that brand name. I am grateful that the Chunky Chili was not paired with salmonella. But if the manufacturer was unable to trace the contents of that can to its origin in spite of all the numbers stamped on it, it is highly likely that this famous soup company would be unable to detect salmonella before the salmonella passed the threshold of my lips.

The moral of this story is simple: It pays to make chunky chili at home. It may take a little longer, but it can be done. What we’re looking for now is a way of making peanut butter.