Le Fancy Jam de Christine Ferber
Before I left Paris last month, I had to buy an extra suitcase to cart back all the foods that I simply couldn’t live without. Yes, I’m one of those sad individuals who insists on bringing foreign items back (including four bottles of wine!) even if I know perfectly well that I can find them in the U.S.—and probably at a lower price, too. There’s just something about that cheery little carton of brown sugar cubes sitting on my shelf that wouldn’t be quite the same if I had bought it in Brisbane.
And no, I'm not an international drug smuggler. That's a bag of cornstarch-free powdered sugar, if you must know.
This morning while I was still in bed, Randy came into my room holding an unopened jar of Christine Ferber’s raspberry jam, fresh from its trans-oceanic journey and still bedecked with a charming little polka dot hat and white ribbon.
“Can I open this?”
“Sure. That’s the famous jam woman. We saw her cookbook at Powells, remember?”
“Oh. Sort of. Can I use it in my PB&J?”
“Sure. But remember that it’s $9 a jar.”*
At this Randy fell to the carpet, writhing in mock agony. Once back on his feet, his voice rose an octave and his eyelids lowered to cruel slits as he began channeling Snotty Foodie, a character we like to drag out every now and again. “But perhaps a peanut butter and jelly sandwich will be the best possible application for this jam, so simple in its elegance! What HONESTY! The purest expression of a humble sandwich! A raspberry jam of this type of perfection will complement the rustic wholegrain goodness of the bread, the smooth creaminess of the peanuts!”
Groaning, I pulled the covers back over my head.
An hour later, still pajama-clad, I am staring at the jam. The cute little polka dot cap and jaunty white ribbon have been callously flung aside and now lie sadly clinging to our sticky counter top. I throw them both in the trash. All this charming packaging is wasted on us. I love the idea, but what are we supposed to DO with it? It lies between me and the food. Therefore, it must be speedily discarded. What do the French do with all their wrapping paper, their ribbons, their expensive stickers? And the Japanese? My god, the Japanese! Everything's elaborately wrapped in Japan. How am I supposed to appreciate this packaging enough to justify the increased price? Stare at it? Photograph it? I need tips.
Randy’s sandwich has been built and there is no bread left, so I reach for a package of $1 Trader Joe’s hot dog buns (stale, naturally). I toast one and smear it with butter. Then I smear the butter with Madame Ferber’s raspberry jam. It’s wonderful. Dare I say that it’s worth 9 euros? The berry flavor is intense. The color is deep scarlet. I'm sorry. It's worth 9 euros.**
The next day when I get home from work, I open the fridge and see this:
Elegant Madame Ferber had been replaced by Mary Ellen, that trashy ho! I guess a certain person had decided that Madame's jam WAS too good for a lowly PB&J. But it'll still have a home on my hot dog buns.
*I was wrong. It’s actually 9 EUROS a jar.
**But I wasn’t as big a fan of her blood orange marmalade. It’s good, just not as earth-shatteringly yummy.
This morning while I was still in bed, Randy came into my room holding an unopened jar of Christine Ferber’s raspberry jam, fresh from its trans-oceanic journey and still bedecked with a charming little polka dot hat and white ribbon.
“Can I open this?”
“Sure. That’s the famous jam woman. We saw her cookbook at Powells, remember?”
“Oh. Sort of. Can I use it in my PB&J?”
“Sure. But remember that it’s $9 a jar.”*
At this Randy fell to the carpet, writhing in mock agony. Once back on his feet, his voice rose an octave and his eyelids lowered to cruel slits as he began channeling Snotty Foodie, a character we like to drag out every now and again. “But perhaps a peanut butter and jelly sandwich will be the best possible application for this jam, so simple in its elegance! What HONESTY! The purest expression of a humble sandwich! A raspberry jam of this type of perfection will complement the rustic wholegrain goodness of the bread, the smooth creaminess of the peanuts!”
Groaning, I pulled the covers back over my head.
An hour later, still pajama-clad, I am staring at the jam. The cute little polka dot cap and jaunty white ribbon have been callously flung aside and now lie sadly clinging to our sticky counter top. I throw them both in the trash. All this charming packaging is wasted on us. I love the idea, but what are we supposed to DO with it? It lies between me and the food. Therefore, it must be speedily discarded. What do the French do with all their wrapping paper, their ribbons, their expensive stickers? And the Japanese? My god, the Japanese! Everything's elaborately wrapped in Japan. How am I supposed to appreciate this packaging enough to justify the increased price? Stare at it? Photograph it? I need tips.
Randy’s sandwich has been built and there is no bread left, so I reach for a package of $1 Trader Joe’s hot dog buns (stale, naturally). I toast one and smear it with butter. Then I smear the butter with Madame Ferber’s raspberry jam. It’s wonderful. Dare I say that it’s worth 9 euros? The berry flavor is intense. The color is deep scarlet. I'm sorry. It's worth 9 euros.**
Elegant Madame Ferber had been replaced by Mary Ellen, that trashy ho! I guess a certain person had decided that Madame's jam WAS too good for a lowly PB&J. But it'll still have a home on my hot dog buns.
*I was wrong. It’s actually 9 EUROS a jar.
**But I wasn’t as big a fan of her blood orange marmalade. It’s good, just not as earth-shatteringly yummy.
Labels: comfort foods, French foods, products
posted by cindym at 8:11 PM
5 Comments:
The environmentalist in me doesn't like all the packaging, but the sensualist (or hedonist?) does. It just adds to the experience, the ritual, the build-up to the actual ingestion of the food. Oftentimes the anticipation is better than the real thing, right? The foreplay better than the climax. Take, for example, uncorking a bottle of wine. The screw caps are great and easy and make it quick to get to that first glass, but there is something so ingrained about the ritual uncorking that endows the first sip with more meaning. Of course, this is just a sign of my age and class and habits, because, as you said, the food is just the food. But I do find the multitude of ways different cultures approach their food products interesting. And yes, it does sound like your jam was worth 9 euros!
Remind me to send you some of THIS Mary Ellen's jam -- maybe not worth 9 Euros, but better than that ho's! I can even put a ribbon on it if you like...
The worst is when you only THINK you can buy something back in the States. We recently had some amazing wine in Australia that I really wish we had bought and brought back with us.
This kind of reminds me of our trip to Laduree when you wore that awesome t-shirt amongst all the pursed lip women--the Christine Ferber jam on a stale hot dog bun has that same sort of je ne sais quoi, and that is exactly why I love you!
A couple days ago I took my "foody daughter" to Trader Joe's. She loves nothing better than to go grocery shopping, but being short of funds she couldn't afford much. So when we left I looked to see what she had so carefully chosen - hot dog buns!
Yesterday my absolutely wonderful husband bought me a copper jam pan and Christine Ferber's book Mes Confitures. Your enthusiasm for her jam is so encouraging. And I'll even let Annie put some on her hot dog bun when I get the jam made.
I too love to bring food back from Europe and put it on the shelf and I don't let people touch it. This is not easy. But I would have definitely saved the cover and ribbon!! I would have washed the jar and lid and then put the tres ordinaire jam in it after the good jam was gone.
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