Awesome Children’s Books, Part 5: Bread and Jam for Frances

When it comes to food, there is a definite difference between being picky and being particular. I’ve never been picky about what I eat. I enjoy almost all flavors, and I’ll try just about anything once: fried alligator, horse steak, a whole tiny squid… (I don’t recommend that last one.) But many times I’ve been accused of being particular about how I eat. And, really, I can’t deny it.

But in my defense, I think meals should be a chance to exercise one’s aesthetic principles. Eating shouldn’t be a utilitarian function, like carp sucking scum from the bottom of a lake in order to stay alive. It should be an adventure full of enjoyment and variety, like a humming bird flitting from flower to flower, sampling the various nectars. The flavors and, just as importantly, the textures should cover a wide spectrum. If they don’t, you’re only cheating yourself.

And yes, I know this philosophy is ridiculous and unsustainable, especially with children around. I just can’t help myself.

Frances Has a Problem

Now, I want to make clear that I’m no foodie. When I cook, it’s usually pretty basic stuff. I don’t have expensive taste (I’ll pass on the caviar, thank you), but I still like to make sure that the way I eat is enjoyable. I’ll explain more about that later.

You thought I forgot that this is supposed to be about a book, right? But don’t worry—I’m getting to that right now.

What I love about the book Bread and Jam for Frances is that Russell Hoban perfectly captures the essence of eating for enjoyment. He does so by introducing us to Frances, a young badger who won’t eat anything but bread and jam. Her parents and even her baby sister are enjoying soft boiled eggs for breakfast, but not Frances. She declines the eggs, saying that “soft boiled eggs slide off your spoon,… [and] sunny-side-up eggs lie on the plate and look up at you in a funny way. And sunny-side-down eggs just lie on their stomachs and wait” [7-8]. I can’t argue with her there. Eggs are one of the foods with a questionable texture.

But when supper time comes and her family is eating breaded veal cutlets, string beans, and baked potatoes, Frances declines again. Her reasoning? “There are many different things to eat, and they taste many different ways. But when I have bread and jam I always know what I am getting, and I am always pleased” [12]. Once again, her logic is solid. There are many adults who operate on the same principle, even when they go to a restaurant. Why risk trying something you might not like when you know that you could order the same thing you always like? But, like the people in this school of thought, Frances was caught in a web of near-sighted preferences. It would take her mother’s wisdom and her friend’s lunch to help her see the error of her ways.

The Epiphany

Obviously Frances can’t go on eating only bread and jam forever. There must be a turning point. But how? First, Frances’ mother shows the kind of insight I hope to have one day. Instead of forcing Frances to eat everything in front of her (a perfectly legitimate tactic that I was raised on), she instead serves Frances nothing but bread and jam for every meal. Frances sees everyone else enjoying their food, but she contents herself with her bread and jam…for a while. But this tactic takes full effect when she sits next to her friend Albert during school lunch.

See, Albert knows what meal time is all about, and so, presumably, does his mother. When Frances pulls out her fifth consecutive meal of bread and jam, she looks over at Albert and asks what he has for lunch. Check out this spread: he has a cream-cheese-cucumber-and-tomato sandwich on rye, a pickle, a hard-boiled egg, a little cardboard shaker of salt, a thermos of milk, some grapes, a tangerine, and a cup of custard with a spoon. This, truly, is the lunch of champions.

Albert’s Technique

But it’s not just what he eats that matters; it’s how he eats it. This is indeed a badger after my own heart. Watch this:

“Albert took two napkins from his lunch box. He tucked one napkin under his chin. He spread the other one on his desk like a tablecloth. He arranged his lunch neatly on the napkin. With his spoon, he cracked the shell of the hard-boiled egg. He peeled away the shell and bit off the end of the egg. He sprinkled salt on the yolk and set the egg down again. He unscrewed his Thermos-bottle cup and filled it with milk. Then he was ready to eat his lunch” [18].

The preparation was essential, but the way he eats is the best part.

“He took a bite of sandwich, a bite of pickle, a bite of hard-boiled egg, and a drink of milk. Then he sprinkled more salt on the egg and went around again. Albert made the sandwich, the pickle, the egg, and the milk come out even” [18-19].

Ahhhh. I feel catharsis down deep in my soul because of that last sentence. But Albert’s feast left Frances feeling downright dissatisfied.

Frances’ Recovery

By dinner time that night, the sight of more bread and jam brought Frances to tears. She was ready for spaghetti. And for lunch the next day, Frances’ food was a perfect specimen of the model mealtime. She set her desk with a doily and a little vase of violets. Then she unpacked her lunch of tomato soup, “lobster-salad sandwich on thin slices of white bread,” celery, carrots, black olives, salt, two plums, cherries, and vanilla pudding with chocolate sprinkles [31]. And, wouldn’t you know it, “she made the lobster-salad sandwich, the celery, the carrot sticks, and the olives come out even” [31].

Doesn’t the thought of that bring peace and joy to your heart? If not, then you’re probably just a normal, healthy individual who doesn’t need an intervention from family and friends. But if so, then we may be soul mates. You, me, and Frances.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go make my dinner come out even.

Source: Hoban, Russell. Bread and Jam for Frances. New York: Harper & Row, 1964.