And you’ll never tango in Paris, either!
Which led to me asking my pom then-BF in a restaurant (rather plaintively, as I’d had enough of the new culture for a day), “What the hell is a groundnut?”
Nein. “Eine Eis”, oder “eine Eiskrem”.
AFAIK. It’s been a few years.
My Mother’s family, as I’ve mentioned before, owns a large farm or three down in Southern Georgia. (The US version.)
In the early 80’s, it became popular for grocery stores to have a grinder in the back which would mash up fresh roasted peanuts into “natural” peanut butter on demand. My Mom was thrilled to have an old home treat.
So she brought home this container of pure mashed-up roasted peanuts for us to try. It quickly separated into peanut solids and oil, with the oil floating on top. My brother promptly poured the “disgusting stuff” off the top into the sink. Mom chastised him saying “Now we’ve got nothing left but peanut paste.” She then explained that the peanut mash could be separated into oil and paste, just like separating milk into curds and whey. When you stir it up and mix the oil and paste together, you get peanut butter.
So, my Mom isn’t the authority on much, but I’ll take the word of a Georgia Peach over “industry standard” on this one. 
P.S. have you ever tried pear butter? Because that is truly a heavenly creation.
According to the ex who is English but spent his formative years in Adelaide, it’s “Biafra’s cack”. I always wondered which locale he got that from or if he made it up as an expression of his disgust of the stuff.
Pumpkin butter too – maple-flavored!
I think of orange juice as frozen solid and formed into a cylinder.