Mason jars are a staple of millennial culture; they’re as likely to be used for storing brown rice as they are for a wedding centerpiece. But while I don’t want to begrudge an aging population their vessel of choice, it has to be said: The era of the Mason jar meal prep must end.
I might’ve been late to the game, but the first time I saw a Mason jar meal, it was late 2016. I thought it was a great idea. I carefully followed the directions for making a Mason jar full of dry ramen ingredients, including noodles, vegetables, smoked tofu and a bouillon cube. I couldn’t wait for the moment I poured the boiling water from the kettle at work into the jar, transforming the colorful layers of barely edible ingredients into a full-blown soup.
When that moment came, though, I was disappointed. With all the stuff piled into the jar, it was hard to move the ingredients around much, so I found myself eating a layer of edamame followed by a layer of spinach before finally reaching the noodles. The bouillon cube, which had worked its way to the bottom of the jar by the time I poured the water in, never really fully integrated into the hot water throughout. The result was a deeply bland soup until I reached the bottom layer, which was almost unbearably salty. My chopsticks, dipped into inches of liquid, were wet; I left drips of hot water all over my desk.
Maybe I’d just overstuffed the jar, I thought. I decided to give the Mason jar meal prep hack another go, this time opting for salad instead of soup. The results were even worse. Actually mixing the layers of the salad together was near impossible, and like the bouillon cube, all the dressing stuck to the bottom of the jar, yielding a largely flavorless salad. It was a bust.
Look at a photo of a Mason jar salad, though, and you may not perceive the practical horrors that await. Stacked in an immaculately clean fridge, the colorful layers of ingredients look joyful and satisfying, reassuring you that, yes, you do have your life together despite the growing pile of laundry in your closet and a vague sense of regret that maybe you should’ve gone to law school after all. Your parents have never inflicted any trauma on you, your ex-boyfriend constantly regrets the day he lost you and you’re the kind of person who always finds time for the gym after a busy day of work. Or, at least, that’s what the image of the Mason jar seems to suggest.
But that’s the problem: Mason jar meal prep isn’t about ease or practicality or enjoyment. It’s all about aesthetics. Let’s be honest, that salad is going to be way easier to eat if you just throw it in the same spaghetti sauce-stained Tupperware you use for leftover cat food and call it a day. The styrofoam-encased Cup Noodles are almost definitely going to taste better than your sad jarred ramen. Yet here we are, trying to prove ourselves by carrying around a heavy glass jar filled with chopped bell peppers. And for what?
It’s 2023. Aren’t we done pretending? Can’t we move on from the era of the Mason jar and just accept that we’re going to ingest small quantities of microplastics every time we eat? When will we be free to really express our true selves?
The time for Mason jar meal prep has come and gone. Use them as storage containers in your pantry, drink out of them, even use them as candle holders if you want some new decor. But please, recipe developers, do not subject us to this culinary crime any longer. Let us use our bowls and leftover takeout containers in peace.
Samantha Maxwell is a food writer and editor based in Boston. Follow her on Twitter at @samseating.