How Uncrustables Transformed the Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich

The dramatic reinvention of the sandwich started with two fathers aiming to satisfy their kids’ preferences.

It was 1995 when David Geske invited his friend Len Kretchman to his home in Fargo, North Dakota. During lunch, their kids requested peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with the crusts removed.

As the meal was being prepared, Geske’s wife Kristen and Kretchman’s wife Emily observed the scene. They jokingly—or perhaps not—suggested that the men consider starting a business based on crustless sandwiches.

Had it been anyone else, the idea might have been dismissed as a fleeting joke—merely a humorous observation about children's selective eating habits. But Geske and Kretchman took it to heart. In no time, they would change the face of the sandwich forever, igniting a series of events that would lead to both success and controversy. Their sealed, crustless creation became a test case for trademark law and led to a bold move—a major food corporation's attempt to patent the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

A Circular Concept

The roots of the crustless sandwich are as murky as the story of the sandwich’s very invention. But serving bread without its crust is hardly a new idea. For centuries, the UK has enjoyed triangular tea sandwiches, typically made crustless for convenience and visual appeal. In Japan, pre-packaged sandwiches, or sandoicchi, are commonly sold with the crusts removed, a cultural choice that likely traces back to an aversion to the tougher, chewier crusts of old and a desire for a more aesthetically pleasing meal.

David Geske and Len Kretchman displayed culinary brilliance by realizing that the crustless sandwich didn’t need to be a treat reserved for patient parents. By mass-producing a ready-to-eat, crustless option, they enabled kids to have one at their convenience, whenever and wherever they pleased.

The concept was simple, but bringing it to life was anything but. While trimming the crust off bread and serving it fresh seemed straightforward, preparing it for storage and transport introduced a series of challenges, particularly with leakage. To contain the peanut butter and jelly, the edges of the circular bread needed to be sealed like a ravioli. However, the jelly kept trying to escape, soaking the bread. After much experimentation, Geske and Kretchman determined that by sealing the jelly between two layers of peanut butter, everything stayed in place. Freezing the sandwiches allowed them to be thawed and enjoyed without the need for trimming any brown crust.

A friend's child came up with the perfect name: the Incredible Uncrustables.

The target audience was children, and Kretchman proved to be the perfect person for the task. Both he and Geske had experience in food service—Greske worked with packaged ice—while Kretchman had a background in food distribution to schools, which gave him crucial access to decision-makers. The Incredible Uncrustables were met with enthusiasm by school administrators, who saw it as an ideal solution for school lunches: for just $7.38, they could feed a dozen students—a highly cost-effective option for feeding kids.

By 1998, Kretchman and Geske were producing 35,000 Incredible Uncrustables a day in Fargo, distributing them to schools in eight states. They also secured a patent for their unique sandwich-making method, which quickly caught the attention of one of the largest food manufacturers in the world. Their goal was clear: they intended to dominate the market, leaving no space for competitors.

Closing the Deal

Jerome Monroe Smucker began his journey in 1897, selling cider and apple butter from a horse-drawn wagon. Throughout the 20th century, his company, Smucker's, built a strong reputation with fruit spreads and jellies. The iconic slogan 'With a name like Smucker’s, it has to be good' became one of advertising’s most memorable phrases.

The Incredible Uncrustables were a perfect fit for Smucker’s portfolio. In 1998, the company reportedly paid Geske and Kretchman $1 million to acquire their business, Menusaver, along with the patent that was approved in December 1999.

It was a smart move. While Geske and Kretchman were content distributing their sandwiches to schools, Smucker had much bigger plans. When they launched Smucker’s Uncrustables in 2000—dropping the 'Incredible'—the product made a big splash at retail. Over 50 million sandwiches were sold in the first year, proving that consumers craved an even more convenient version of an already-convenient sandwich.

Albie’s, which had been selling meat-filled pastries called 'pasties' since 1987, noticed the success of Uncrustables and wanted to get in on the pre-made peanut butter and jelly market. They introduced their square sandwich, E.Z. Jammers, but within months, they received a cease-and-desist letter from Smucker, claiming the product infringed on their patent—just one of many Smucker sent to competitors with similar crustless offerings.

Regan Quaal, the owner of Albie’s, was left astounded. After some back-and-forth exchanges, he took Smucker to court in 2003, arguing that the patent was too broadly applied and that it was unreasonable to claim ownership over a classic sandwich enjoyed by millions. Smucker responded with a countersuit, accusing them of patent infringement, marking a peak in peanut butter-related legal battles. This case also sparked a broader debate about the U.S. patent system, which once emphasized that patented inventions had to result from a 'flash of genius.' Critics pointed out that the approval rate had ballooned to roughly 75 percent, including this seemingly novel take on peanut butter and jelly.

Despite the mounting criticism, Smucker stood firm. They pursued additional patents for Uncrustables, covering both the creation process and packaging of the sealed sandwich. Albie’s attorneys responded, claiming that such sealing could be achieved using common food crimpers, which were not patentable. In retaliation, Smucker’s legal team argued that using these commercial tools led to poorly-sliced bread in their experiments. However, patent judges in the case found that the crimping device had been misused, or that excess jelly had been applied, which unfairly strengthened Smucker’s position. It became the sealed sandwich equivalent of O.J. Simpson's infamous glove struggle.

The legal battle continued into 2005, when the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Federal Circuit finally ruled against Smucker on the two additional patents. Judge Arthur Gajarsa remarked that the sealed bread was hardly any different from the crust found on pasta or pie. He also made a pointed comment about the original idea itself, saying that his wife had simply been making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches all along.

He warned, 'I’m afraid she might be infringing on your patent.'

Smucker has remained resolute in its position. In 2022, they issued another cease-and-desist letter to Gallant Tiger, claiming trademark infringement over their round peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. While the concept of a sealed sandwich may not have been groundbreaking enough to warrant a patent, a crimped, circular sealed sandwich? That’s another matter. Smucker will likely be on your case.

Toward a Billion

While many have tried to copy the idea, Smucker holds a powerful asset that goes beyond patents: brand recognition. Despite rarely diving into television ads or large-scale marketing campaigns, Uncrustables have become synonymous with frozen sandwiches. By 2019, the company estimated that over 4 billion Uncrustables had been produced. In 2024, Smucker anticipates reaching $1 billion in annual sales, with a wide range of flavors available (strawberry, grape, raspberry, wheat).

The company prides itself on its strict quality control. Each Uncrustable is photographed as it leaves the production line to ensure there’s no excess filling or crust. The bread, which undergoes flash-freezing, is said to be fresher than what you’d find on store shelves, with none of the preservatives commonly found in conventional breads.

Uncrustables have become a staple in the world of sports. In 2024, The Athletic analyzed the data and found that NFL teams consume over 4,300 Uncrustables each week. The convenience of the sandwich is hard to beat—it travels well, survives the rough handling of luggage or bags, and delivers a quick boost of protein, carbs, and fats, which are essential for athletic performance.

But there’s still one lingering question. Every loaf of bread comes with its inevitable crust. So, what happens to all those leftover edges? According to Smucker, they are sent off to be recycled as animal feed. This creative method of dealing with the crusts, however, has yet to be patented.