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  • Writer's picturemolly ofgeography

the time with the Great Jam Caper

there is almost nothing i wouldn't do for good food.


have i ever told you all about the time my roommate B almost killed a guy about his Super Special B-Only Jam? it was when we were living in argentina, and B was actually not living with me but with this guy we will call hamilton and another guy named……..uh, something. i forget his name, but i know that in high school he was in a screamer band. i think they may have had a song on the radio once, or almost had a song on the radio once, but then they all broke up because they went to college. anyway hamilton and Screamer Band Guy (SBG) lived with B in this little apartment in san telmo, which was the perfect neighborhood for B specifically to be living in because of who B is as a person (san telmo has world famous flea markets and B unironically called himself my mom and cooked me italian food when i was sad). the thing about B is that he had this raspberry jam that he was obsessed with and that was i guess really hard to get in argentina?

and the boys all shared all their food, but the jam was always off limits unless you asked B first.

which is fair, but like, this jam. was so good. and so hard to get. like i feel like B may have told me that he had to go to france to get it?? to FRANCE??? like that cannot be right because we were in argentina and france is very far from argentina and i’d probably notice him popping off the continent but this jam was so good and so precious that it WOULD NOT SURPRISE ME TO LEARN that it was, in fact, a france-only jam.

  • having had this jam–the name of which i have tried and tried and tried and cannot remember–i can confirm that it was better than other jams.

  • was it better because it was better, or because it was forbidden?

  • my heart says it was better because it was better but my head is like “girl. could any jam be as good as you are thinking? you are looking at this jam with rose-colored glasses.”

  • (“don’t you mean….JAM-COLORED GLASSES?”)

  • (“no i don’t, get out, you’re fired.”)

ANYWAY all i know is that B would kill a man for that jam and with good reason, because every bite of it was sweet raspberry gold. so the second-to-last day that we were all in argentina, B went out on the town. i did not do that, because clubs stress me out.

  • i feel like the best way that i can describe how i feel about clubs is this:

  • i’m a very touchy-feely person, to a degree that is probably alarming because if you allow me one time to force you to pet me i will immediately climb into your lap and cling to your sweater like a burr, but put me in a space where people are drinking heavily and everyone wants to touch your body and suddenly my personal space bubble becomes 82 orca whales in a gradually widening spiral.

i stayed home with hamilton and SBG and we got dinner and listened to the single that SBG may or may not have had on the radio. we drank what was left of their wine, because if we didn’t drink it we’d have to throw it out and i don’t know if you know this but argentina!!! makes really good!!! wine!!! around 1ish or 2ish or 3ish, when we were all very heavily on the drunk side of our farewell wine party, hamilton sat up and said suddenly, “i’m gonna eat that jam.” SBG and i looked at him. “i dunno, man,” SBG said. “that’s B’s special jam.” “yeah,” said hamilton. “it’s so good. it’s so good.” “it is so good,” SBG said, thoughtfully. “it’s the best jam in the world.”

  • this was said very matter-of-factly, in that way of drunk people talking themselves into something.

  • you know what i’m talking about.

  • “you can do it, man.” “i can. i CAN do it. I CAN DO IT!!!”


“you shouldn’t eat that jam,” i said, but i was also already thinking of that jam. we didn’t have any bread to put it on. we had potato chips, which is not the same thing. “no, i shouldn’t,” agreed hamilton. we all nodded at each other. "………………………………………………..but i am though, i’m gonna eat that jam,” hamilton said, and got up, and went to the fridge, and took a spoon and shoveled a huge glob of it into his mouth.

  • have you seen the beyonce music video where she pours that bottle of $10,000 champagne into a hot tub and you’re like LOGICALLY I KNOW THAT’S PROBABLY NOT ACTUALLY $10,000 CHAMPAGNE BUT LIKE OH MY GOD MY BODY HURTS JUST THINKING ABOUT WHAT’S HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?

  • that’s what this felt like.

“nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo,” i said. “duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude,” said SBG. hamilton held the spoon out. SBG and i looked at each other. “are you gonna eat the jam?” i asked. “are you gonna eat the jam?” he responded. we ate the jam. —- 6am, upon B’s return from being out on the town: “WHO THE FUCK ATE ALL MY JAM?” “jam?” i asked, eyes wide, small dots of sweet red dotting the corners of my mouth. “someone ate your jam??? oh my god, B. wow. that’s crazy. i’ve just been sitting here watching law and order for the last 12 hours. i didn’t see anything. are you sure you didn’t eat your jam? you were pretty drunk when you got in last night.

anyway good news you definitely do not have to go all the way to france to get it. apparently you can…..get it pretty much anywhere.


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