I can never understand how jam, a confit of boiled fruit and sugar, can be known by the catchall of jelly and yet, in the USA, it apparently is. It’s the lack of care in defining the difference between a thick syrup, laden with morsels of sugar infused fruit and a carefully sieved and clarified confection that surprises me. In the same anodyne fashion the word “cookie” covers the infinite range of biscuits with the added jarring note of an infantile diminutive style… and whence stemmed this etymological rage, Roger ? I’ll tell you. It stemmed from the moment this morning when I took the remains of a good roast chicken from the fridge. All that remained was the carcase, ready for stock making, but that carcase was surrounded by a thick layer of translucent golden jelly which is produced by my assiduous basting of the chicken during its time in the oven. Aside from my immediate thought, that of grilling some bread on which to spread this treasure for a mid morning snack, it reawakened the jam and jelly controversy. What I was hungrily looking at beneath and around the chicken carcase was most definitely jelly and the jar, on the shelf above it, filled with boiled fruit and sugar was undoubtedly a jar of apricot jam. There are indeed some mouthwatering confections of fruit preserves that are undoubtedly jellies and these are the sweet brethren of the savoury jelly that lay beneath my chicken and was about to be spread on my toast. The words sucré et salé, sugared and salted, serve as much clearer definitions of the difference in taste between that which we commonly know as sweet or savoury but words, in matters of taste, will always give way to the defining sensations of the palate. Was there to be an unlabeled jar of this clear, amber jelly on the breakfast table I am sure that I would assume it to be a sugared confection and it would be shortly after that moment that my palate would be examining the unexpected saltiness of chicken marmalade.