I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.
The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.
It took dominion everywhere.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.
--Anecdote of the Jar, Wallace Stevens
Over the past year, my Facebook activity has decreased to the point that I now only use it to monitor items available for sale of give-away in my neighborhood. Until last week, my only two acquisitions via this channel were some ice cube trays that make large cubes for cocktails and a salt and pepper shaker set. I got both of those items for free. I never paid for anything.
But then a post appeared on a rainy day announcing a Phillies cookie jar for sale, and, OMG! He is so cute!
The seller was asking $40 for this vessel, but my counter of $30 was quickly accepted.
I am not particularly wont to impulse shopping, but this was most definitely an impulse purchase. Just a couple weeks prior, my wife and I purchased a large wooden hutch on Craigslist for $75 and here I was paying $30 for what is, frankly, an ugly item. But, at the end of the day, my heart just couldn't resist this pudgy, fantastically-mustached , presumably-Italian chef serenely contemplating his cookie.
What's the purpose of a cookie jar anyway? Don't cookies come in packaging that is appropriate for service? What is to be gained in the extra step of transferring the cookies from their service-appropriate packaging to this additional vessel?
These questions raced through my mind as I drove home from the Bed, Bath, and Beyond parking lot at which I acquired this item from its seller. The answers to those same questions remain unclear to this day.
Turning to the item itself, the bottom of the jar informs the user that it is the Chef Cookie Jar, the 1st in a series of an unlisted and indeterminable number. Moreover, we learn that it was produced in 2004, so it is basically a relic at this point. What we have not learned from this item is why it was created or the rationale for this jar resembling a portly chef rather than, you know, a baseball player. These questions lurk every time I use this product.
Due to his rotund nature, the belly of this particular chef is suited to store a vast quantity of very small cookies and a surprisingly generous portion of regular sized ones. If you're more of a large cookie person, you may see fit to seek a more suitable jar for your needs.
Lifting the lid, aka the chef's collar and head, reveals some manner of freshness-preserving mechanism. This rubber or silicone liner, despite its merits, can do no more than merely delay the inevitability of staleness that haunts the very concept of cookie-ness. In attempting to reposition the lid on top of the chef's portly frame, one is confronted with a slightly odd, idiosyncratic, off-center fit, which makes the simple task of retrieving a cookie slightly more laborious than it need be. For an unquestionably tacky item, this slight inconvenience looms large.
Product: Phillies Chef Cookie Jar
Pros: Reflects the Phillies fandom of the owner. Imparts a sense of serenity. Is related to cookies. Preserves cookie freshness via a silicon sealing mechanism.
Cons: Clashes with most home aesthetics. Non-intuitive lid orientation. Reminder of a regrettable impulse buy.
Evaluation: Tentatively recommended.