The 'J' in PBJ

When I was a girl, I knew two truths about Americans. They called jelly ‘jello’, and they called jam ‘jelly’. I thought they were a crazy mixed-up nation, based largely on those two facts. I mean, how could anyone live somewhere where it was all so confusing?

Now I am a mature lady, and I’ve lived in America for more than five years, and I know many many truths about Americans. I still think they are a crazy mixed-up nation, but that’s because I think every nation is a crazy mixed-up nation. I still find life here somewhat confusing, but that’s because life is inherently confusing. I have at least managed to sort out the whole jelly/jam conundrum.

Jelly is indeed called ‘jello’ in America. It’s a brand name, so I should probably afford it the dignity of an initial capital: ‘Jello’. It has happier rhyming scope than jelly. Jelly rhymes with smelly and telly and welly and belly (which used to be a deliciously not-quite-rude-but-still-a-bit-naughty word when I was little, but is probably more mundane now). None of those are very inspiring. Not on your Nellie. Jello rhymes with hello and ‘cello (gotta love that initial apostrophe – how many words have an initial apostrophe?) and bellow and fellow and mellow. All rather pleasing, friendly words. “Hello, my good fellow” I bellowed, “How mellow is the music from your ‘cello!” Jello wins hands down in the rhyming stakes.

So far so easy. Any old Brit could manage the jelly/Jello linguistic transition (and see how generously I continue to award the American word a capital, whilst sticking with the lowly lower case for the British word). Now on to the complexities of jam. Incidentally, can you believe they don’t have jammie dodgers in America, they don’t call a police car a jam sandwich, and I don’t think they use the word ‘jammy ‘ to mean uncommonly lucky or flukey (though I could be wrong about that last one).

Living amongst Americans has shown me that my previous understanding (ie that they call jam ‘jelly’) is wrong. There are two different substances to which they give two different names. Jelly is clear, and doesn’t have bits in it. Jam is not clear, and does have bits in it. And guess what? It’s actually exactly the same in British English. Think of the redcurrant jelly you have with your roast chicken. You’d never call that ‘jam’, would you? And what you do call jam, Americans also call jam.

The difference emerges from the usage of the substance. You wouldn’t spread redcurrant jelly on your children’s toast, or make their sandwiches with it. Over here they do. They have grape jelly, apple jelly, strawberry jelly, for that very purpose. None of it tastes very nice, but it’s almost impossible to resist buying it, because the leading brand is called Smuckers. Doesn’t that beat Robinson’s or Bonne Maman into a cocked hat? I always want to call it Smuckers Schmuckers. In fact, I often do – just not out loud.

I like to think that living on a different continent to the one I was brought up in broadens my horizons and gives me greater understanding of my fellow people, and I bring you the jelly/jam issue as evidence of that. See how prejudiced I used to be. “Americans call jam, ‘jelly’.” How simplistic, narrow-minded and critical I was in my youth! My five years here have taught me that I was wrong. What I used to see as an insurmountable difference between the two nations, I now realize was my own error of comprehension. In fact, we are marked out by our similarity. We are two peoples at one in our use of the words ‘jam’ and ‘jelly’. We co-incide. There is unity between us. Our linguistic commonality is seamless. I would quite possibly never have discovered that, had I not moved across the Atlantic. Thus another link is forged in the chain of international understanding. See how I am contributing to world peace, simply by blogging about jelly and jam.