With a name like Smucker's it's got to be . . . well, maybe we should reserve judgment on this one.
I've had a soft spot for the esteemed jam family after lunching with some of the clan in the Orrville, Ohio, house of founder J.M. Smucker. Now the family-owned company has come out with something called Uncrustables, a frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwich, ready to thaw and eat.
This is the latest assault on a country where making a kid a peanut butter and jelly-- or jam -- sandwich is suddenly too much work, takes too much time and dirties too many dishes (one knife).
We Americans must be a desperate people.
Starting Saturday, Pittsburghers will receive a formal introduction to Uncrustables when three custom automobiles will tool around town to dole out samples at supermarkets. (The other test market for the frozen PBJ is Cleveland, whatever that's worth.)
To be objective, a kid-friendly product like Uncrustables could reduce a harried parent's blood pressure. Kids are prone to snivel, "I don't like crusts!" and it's no fun finding grape-jelly-smeared leftovers with telltale teeth marks between the cushions of the family-room couch. Uncrustables -- duh -- have no crusts.
Opening a sample, I think they seem oddly pale, sealed with an edging resembling my mother's pies.
We can learn something from Smucker's. Whoever invented Uncrustables has a good gimmick: Sandwich the jam/jelly between a top and bottom layer of peanut butter, thus insulating against most leakage.
In my own taste test (I had the peanut butter-strawberry jam combo), sogginess had crept onto one quadrant, though this might have been because they arrived prematurely unthawed. Other office-mates' snacks came through sans sogginess.
Smucker's makes quality products and this one tastes good, but is this convenience run amok? And convenience costs. According to the press materials, a box of four Uncrustables is priced between $2.39 and $2.59, or 60 to 65 cents apiece.
A better bet, to be sure, than most candy bars. What the label calls a "soft bread sandwich," has 7 grams of protein, or 8 percent of the Daily Value, plus 9 percent of carbohydrates -- and 200 calories, not a lot for a kid (or an adult) on the go. There's even a little calcium and iron, both 6 percent of Daily Value.
But couldn't we make one for lots less?
We pulled apart Smucker's sandwich to measure how much jelly and peanut butter were inside. Using a toothpick we scraped out the fillings and tried to weigh them. Our scale -- no science lab model -- didn't register the jelly, which we estimated to be less than a teaspoon (some of it absorbed by the bread), but the approximately 1 1/2 tablespoons of peanut butter weighed about 25 grams, or about an ounce. We tried to get exact weights from Ohio but were told it was a secret formula.
Let's see how this convenience food stacks up in price.
The circular sandwich measured about 3 1/2 inches across (the size of the lid from a 40-ounce peanut butter jar), so we cut a similar size and used equal amounts of PBJ. Judging from the ingredient label, theirs was no artisan bread, so we chose an inexpensive white bread with comparable preservatives from the grocery shelf ($1.29 for a 1-pound loaf). We counted 16 slices (not including the throwaway heels), divided by two, giving a total of 8 sandwiches from the loaf, or 16 cents per unit. The jelly jar -- Smucker's, natch -- was 12 ounces, and cost $1.80.
Our problems at duplicating Uncrustables began immediately. We found Smucker's grape jelly, but trips to four supermarkets uncovered no Smucker's smooth peanut butter. Smucker's Natural, yes, ($2.75 to $2.85 for 16 ounces), Smucker's Goober Grape, yup ($2.79 for 18 ounces), but no regular. We took the typical price of a name brand -- $2.29 for 18 ounces, or 13 cents a sandwich.
Adding the number up, that's 13 cents for peanut butter, 17 cents for bread, and figuring a generous dime for jelly, total cost -- probably overestimated, but allowing for jelly spilled on the counter and peanut butter eaten from the jar with a spoon as "rehearsal" -- is 40 cents.
That's about a 33 percent savings. For ingredients, not counting labor.
To duplicate Smucker's no-leak sandwich, we tried sealing the rounded edge with a pastry crimper (raggedy result), then used a fork with limited success.
One co-worker suggested that Uncrustables would be a nifty thing to hand kids on their way out to play. It's up to you to decide whether you're willing to pay for the convenience.
Meanwhile, I had a pile of bread crusts.
Here, Socks! Our Australian shepherd lapped them up. It isn't just us kids at heart who love comfort food.
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