How many times have my fingers slipped over the glass embossed, elegantly raised cursive letters “Bonne Maman,” diminuitively looping across the smooth upper part of the jar, as I rinsed out yet another emptied jar of jam. Or to be exact, “fruit preserves.”
In every apartment I’ve lived in, no matter the colors or design of the kitchen, it’s ultimately always had the same aesthetic, due to two constants: a huge bowl or basket of lemons and limes, and the presence of countless gingham checked topped Bonne Maman jars.
I’ve always adored these delicious jams and their little homes of faceted glass with subtly arched indented panes of definition that create a subtle crowning scalloped ring around the jar.
I thought it was the white label with the looping black cursive lettering spelling out Bonne Maman as elegantly as though it were your name on an envelope containing an invitation to a black tie affair.
I thought it was the beautiful jewel colored jams. I thought it was how practical these charming jars proved to be, as I repurposed them over the years for yogurt parfaits on the go, as glowing votive candle holders, vases to fill with tiny freshly picked flower bouquets, and even drinking glasses.
Never mind their more mundane, organizational, kitchen re-uses, such as filling these pretty jars with star anise or cinnamon stick spices, leftover morning oatmeal, salad dressings, pesto, dips or spreads, feta cheese, dry grains or nuts, and with those never ending zested lemon halves left over from use in a recipe, with no where to go. (Don’t get me started on how perfect these jars are for road trips and picnics.)
I thought it was because one sealed Bonne Maman jar was always a perfect gift to give my father, a devotee of their special jams he enjoys spreading on Shabbat challah.
I thought it was the inmate and maternal feel of “Bonne Maman,” the French words themselves meaning, “Good Mother.” One year in honor of Mother’s Day I added a little crowd of the miniature Bonne Maman jam jars to a breakfast-in-bed tray for my own mother.
I thought it was because the jar made the perfect TLC little drop off to friends who might be suffering from a cold, filling a jar with a couple of tea bags and, matroyshka doll style, nesting an adorable miniature Bonne Maman jam jar inside.
I thought it was because the fruiti-ness embodied quintessential summer, even if, as you turned the lid and heard that “pop” sound when you opened up a fresh jar, it was the deep cold of February.
I thought it was because my stash of Bonne Maman was an essential that I stocked up on (along with Tiptree lemon curd and a dulce de leche or two) and that got me through COVID lockdown and countless quarantines (I have four open Bonne Maman jams in the fridge right now: plum, cherry, apricot and raspberry, with countless more lined up in my pantry).
I thought it was the perfection of the preserves; how the fruit spreads could double as, say, a dollop of cherry compote spooned over baked apples, blintzes, pancakes, French toast or even ice cream. Or, a shmear of fig jam on goat cheese spread can lift it to greater heights in an instant — and so many other endless variations. These sweet- yet- not-too-sweet jewel-toned jams go beyond the usual culinary uses of apricot hamantaschen fillings, raspberry thumbprint cookies or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
I thought it was all these very worthy qualities of Bonne Maman that made it so fetching: it’s simply the best jam in the best dreamy jars. Almost no jam can compare (because how can I leave out Hero’s Swiss Preserves, especially red currant for cooking or baking?).
It turns out, though, that unknowingly, it must have been the history behind Bonne Maman that drew me in, for this is not just any outstanding jam, this is a jam company with a story.
Law professor and writer Michael Perino tweeted about it this week. He was grocery shopping, helping an elderly lady reach a top shelf for the Bonne Maman jam, when she told him the reason she insists on buying this brand was because the family that owns Bonne Maman risked their lives during WW II to shelter Jews, including her very own family.
So you see, this Bonne Maman jam company is more than fruit transformation of sweetened raspberries, strawberries, apricots and plums. The sweetness goes far deeper.
I googled to see if I could learn more about this story. Sure enough I learned about the town of Biars-sur-Cère and its sheltering of Jews during WW II. Locally, it’s common knowledge — the area’s heroism of fighting in the resistance and saving Jews, including the family that went on to create Bonne Maman.
Bonne Maman has always been such a favorite of mine, but who would have thought, as I spread a ruby red layer of jam, that there are people in the world who owe their lives to this jam company’s family? To the heroism and bravery of this jam company’s founders? So few stood up to the Vichy government, the Nazi collaborators. Had these families who sheltered Jews been exposed, they would have been shot on the spot.
Henceforth, when I gift myself or others with a jar of Bonne Maman jam, it will be more than just a jar filled with cooked sugar and fruit. Here on in, this jam is a sacred jam of sorts. I can now justify my Bonne Maman dependency on noble grounds.
Because in its own way, Bonne Maman stands for something. It is a treasure in its own right; a symbol of saving Jewish lives during the Holocaust.
It seems that this sweet company has been aptly named.They are, indeed, very good people. Good fathers. Good brothers. Good grandmas and grandpas. And Good Mothers. Indeed, Bonne Maman.
Copyright © 2021 by the Intermountain Jewish News
