Est. 2019 · Small batch · Very small batch

Preserves, from floors that remember.

We reclaim century-old oak flooring from shuttered ballrooms, bowling alleys and one extremely haunted Lutheran church, then slow-steep it until it tells us its story. Then we jar the story.

Two bearded makers in leather aprons behind a market stall of jam jars
Silas and Dale, at the only market that would have us.

The process

Hipsters sorting reclaimed oak floorboards in a brick warehouse
The Sorting Room. Talking is discouraged. Feelings are encouraged.
Copper kettle of jam with oak shavings
Day 1,412 of a single batch.
i.ReclaimWe only harvest oak that has been walked on by at least four generations. Ideally in tap shoes.
ii.ListenEach board rests in our Logan Square studio for 90 days so we can hear what it wants to become. It usually wants to become jam.
iii.Hand-sandWe sand every plank by hand, against the grain, because the grain has had it easy for a hundred years.
iv.SteepSawdust is slow-steeped in small copper kettles over a fire made of the boards that didn't make the cut.
v.WaitEleven years. We don't make the rules. The oak does.
vi.JarSealed with beeswax from bees we have never met but deeply respect.

Current preserves

Ballroom Reserve

Notes of floor wax, regret and a 1947 foxtrot

From the sprung maple-adjacent oak of a Milwaukee dance hall. Pairs with sourdough and unresolved feelings.

Sold out since 2021

Lane 7 Marmalade

Bright, lacquered, faintly of nachos

Reclaimed from a bowling alley that closed after a very specific incident. Spreads beautifully. Strikes rarely.

Waitlist closed

Barn Door Butter

Smoky, rustic, slightly judgmental

A whipped preserve from a Wisconsin barn door that was, technically, still attached to a barn. We have since apologized.

Available by referral only

Hallway Seconds

Honest, humble, creaks a little

Offcuts from a Lincoln Park hallway. Our most approachable jam. Still not for eating, legally.

Ask your barista
Bearded man in a leather apron holding a jam jar to a lantern in a barrel cellar
Checking clarity. Nobody knows what we're checking for.
New this season

Bourbon Barrel Reserve

Our oak jam, aged a further four years inside retired Kentucky bourbon barrels. Oak, finished in oak. We asked ourselves if this was too much oak. We decided there is no such thing.

Each jar is hand-carried into the cellar at dusk and spoken to in a low voice. Finish: caramel, campfire, a closing-time feeling.

Allocated. You were not allocated.

Our story

Oak Jam began in 2019, when our founder tripped on a loose floorboard in a decommissioned roller rink and heard a voice. The voice said "preserve me." Most people would have called a contractor. We called it a calling.

We started with one kettle, one plank and a borrowed belt sander. Today we work with a network of demolition crews, estate liquidators and a guy named Dale who does not ask questions. Every jar is numbered, journaled and named after the last song played on its floor.

We don't sell in stores. We don't have a website you can order from. You're on it. That's the point.

"I don't know what I ate, but I know it had seen things."An early customer, briefly

Questions

Is it edible?
We prefer the word "experiential."
Is it gluten-free?
It's oak-full. Draw your own conclusions.
Where can I buy it?
You don't find Oak Jam. Oak Jam finds you. Usually at a farmers market, usually right as you're leaving.
Do you ship?
Our jam doesn't travel well. It has done enough traveling. It was a floor.
How do I contact you?
You don't. If you need to reach us, stand quietly on an old wooden floor and think about jam.
Are you hiring?
Only people who can sit with a plank for 90 days without checking their phone. So, no.