Bonne Maman Is Every Jam, Everywhere, All at Once
When I was a child, my aunt made jam. Sometimes, we had her jam, and sometimes, we had a jam from a jar with “Bonne Maman” scribbled on the label. This confused me: Bonne Maman was not my aunt, who was American and named Judie, but the jars looked so similar—it had to be homemade by someone? And at the same time, I was vaguely aware that this could not possibly be right. I’d seen it in the grocery store, which seemed like an implausibly high volume for one aunt. I couldn’t parse it, which I found unsettling. Who was this Bonne Maman?
By early adolescence, I had a better grasp of brands. Even then, I understood that Bonne Maman occupies a singular place in the landscape of preserves. (It is a preserve and not technically a jam, because jams use ...