Bonne Maman Ambitions

Before moving back to France, I was living in Astoria, Queens.  I must admit that Astoria is much more Greek than I.  Whenever I sleepily trekked home from the N train, the blue and white murals of the Parthenon always made me smile.  Fig trees and grape trellises covered in caution tape peppered the front yards.  My landlord, Paxos, enthusiastic since I posted my last name in masking tape on the mailbox, never passed me in the hall without hounding, “You speak Greek?”.  But thanks to the local Greek fruit market down the street, I was thrilled to find Bonne Maman jam in the European foods isle, sharing the shelf with the other nostalgic foods without nutrition facts.  I would preach the wonders of Bonne Maman plum jam, spoon feeding it to my roommate.  These were the days I was especially missing a lunch hour longer than 15 minutes.  Whether on top of my Greek sesame bread for breakfast or snuggled up to my Greek yoghurt for dessert, my precious Bonne Maman was always a friendly reminder of France.

Although I have not tried the whole Bonne Maman collection just yet, no daily bread is complete without a little daily jam.  I am up for the challenge.

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Click here to find out how to turn this Indian summer’s harvest into confiture.

If I can still find apricots at the market, I can always trust Ruth Reichl on how to make a better apricot jam.

Or how about a concord grape jam tart?

And click here to discover Bonne Maman’s match made in expat heaven.  

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