The Sadness Of Jam
I have just purchased jam for the first time. I do not like jam/jelly/preserves (sorry to sound like a Dane Cook sketch). I do, however, love toast. I was in one of those annoyingly trendy, overly organic markets that doesn’t just sell normal peanut butter and remembered how I sort of liked the raspberry preserves I ate in London last year. Crazy, but I just went for it. YOLO, right?
So everything’s going great with this jam. It tastes awesome, very raspberry-y and delightfully seedy (meaning, of seeds - not shady). The problem is, I cannot imagine how long it will take me to finish the jar, one half-bagel and slice of toast at a time. How do people actually do this?
I want to eat this jam naturally. I don’t want to go ‘round working it into my every recipe, but I feel it might come to that. Jam chicken, ugh.
Now I know what you’re going to say. I’ve only eaten PB&J twice in my life and don’t plan to make it a third. Really, the whole situation is murderously depressing. The doomed fate of that barely-finished jar of jam kind of kills the eating experience and frankly, serves as a constant reminder of why cooking for one is The Worst.