We Be Jammin'

     I don't eat dry toast. Why would I? I suppose I could go without the butter if my health were in jeopardy, but I must have my honey or jam--especially the jam.

     But not just any jam.

     Costco began carrying a brand a few years ago that tops my list: E. D. Smith. It isn't called jam; it is labeled as a spread and it comes in two-pound jars. Well, of course it does, because there isn't anything sold at Costco that doesn't come in monster containers. And it isn't patriotic to trade in mere ounces. I like the cherry, wildberry and raspberry. The trouble with Costco is that they often change their product. I haven't seen wildberry and raspberry in the store for a couple of years. Last fall, however, cherry jam returned.

     So I bought ten jars. Yes, ten, two-pound jars. Presumably enough jam to last me until doomsday. A couple of months later I bought two more. Then a few weeks after that I bought another two, because I know that, unless the world ends in six months, I will run out. There are only three of us living here, but we all use it. It started out with just me using cherry jam, but somewhere along the way I have made converts.

     There are whole cherries floating in my jam. I don't like chunks of fruit on my toast, so each time that I open a new jar, I puree it in the food processor and pour it into three pretty glasses that I use over and over again. These make me happy and I pretend that I am making my own jam.

Chalk it up to just another of my little idiosyncrasies.