The Sqirl Jam Controversy, Explained

This morning I woke up, drank a glass of warm water with lemon, did 30 minutes of breathwork and my sun salut—okay, this morning I woke up, rolled over, checked my phone, saw a text from midnight that read, “just search Sqirl on the timeline,” searched Sqirl on the timeline, and spent 20 bleary-eyed minutes reading posts about a jam scandal at a restaurant I had never been to in Los Angeles, a city in which I do not live. I emerged centered and energized, exhilarated by an affair that was simultaneously incredibly fraught and relatively low-stakes. Even the initial premise—a jam scandal—is so banal and quaint, it sounds like it belongs in the Winnie-the-Pooh extended universe. Which is why I’m about to devote 600 words to explaining it to you.

First things first, what is Sqirl?

The primary actor—the j'accused, if you will—is Sqirl, a hipster café in Los Angeles famous for serving big slices of toast with jam and bright pesto rice bowls to brunching denizens. Sqirl also sells jars of their jam from their online store for $14–$18 a pop, and the New York Times referred to owner Jessica Koslow as the “Genius of Jam” in 2019. But recent allegations suggest something darker underneath the genius…or, rather, on top of the jam (it’s mold).

Before we get to the mold, is the jam good?

No idea. I’m not going to act like I’m above wanting to try a big slice of toast with jam, but my one and only Sqirl experience involved driving by, seeing a line wrapped around the block, refusing to wait in line to eat a slice of toast, and then leaving—but not before seeing Diplo walk by my car. Ah, the City of Angels.

So what are the accusations?

Starting on Sunday, self-described “scientist and food antagonist” Joe Rosenthal began assembling stories on Instagram from former employees that tell of sketchy food-safety procedures involving the jam. A quick summary: Sqirl allegedly makes their sought-after jams in an illegal kitchen space that is deliberately hidden from health inspectors. In there, uncovered buckets of jam frequently grew mold several inches deep that was periodically scraped off by staff. “We were told that the health department gave us permission to scoop the mold off if we went two inches down,” one ex-employee told Rosenthal, for instance.

Show me the mold, baby!

Here, a harrowing photo of moldy jam that a former Sqirl employee sent to Rosenthal, which he hosted on the URL moldbucket.clickbaittrash.com.

Did you really click on moldbucket.clickbaittrash.com?

Aren’t we all, in a spiritual sense, constantly clicking on moldbucket.clickbaittrash.com?

Have there been any other allegations?

The mold discussion has prompted other former employees to speak out about the general workplace culture at Sqirl. Former chefs Javier Ramos and Ria Dolly Barbosa both posted on Instagram, alleging that Koslow took credit for their work, with Ramos specifically adding that he did not get “recognition or payment” for the recipes he contributed to Sqirl’s popular cookbook. There has also been renewed discussion about how Sqirl has been a force for gentrification in the Virgil Village area of Los Angeles. 

Has Sqirl responded?

Yes: In a screenshot of a lengthy Google Doc (an evolution of the Notes app apology), the company began by stating, “At Sqirl, jam is how we started, it’s what we’re most known for, and what we sell the most of. For us jam was never really just a thing on toast.” The explanation continues to say that because Sqirl’s jam does not use commercial sweeteners and is relatively low-sugar, it’s therefore more susceptible to mold. Further, the mold that did develop on the bulk jam was reportedly “handled with the guidance of preservation mentors and experts like Dr. Patrick Hickey,” a working mycologist.

Why did I just read 600 words on jam?

This I cannot help you with—you can only find the answer by peering deep inside the jam bucket of your soul. 

Any final thoughts?

Bonne Maman will never let you down.

He survived the EDM boom, has courted countless controversies, and against long odds, somehow reinvented himself as a perfect (and hilarious) celebrity for the Instagram age. Gabriella Paiella goes deep inside the relentless, globe-trotting, and often shirtless world of the one and only Diplo.

Originally Appeared on GQ