HOW NOT TO MAKE A JELLY SANDWICH

In this droll tale, ostensibly straightforward instructions are a recipe for absurdity.

To obtain the two slices of bread that a jelly sandwich calls for, a brown-skinned youngster named Frankie instructs readers to head to the store. But NOT to the bakery aisle! Instead, buy “one orange [traffic] cone, scuba flippers, and a yellow inner tube.” Using those items to fashion a duck disguise, you’ll score the bread from a brown-skinned elder feeding wildfowl in the park. And if the ducks see through your pretense, you might have to practice your “quack-cent.” Similar maneuvers are required to open the jelly jar: You’ll need peanuts, a playground with a “whirly-go-round,” and an elephant with a strong trunk grip. (But if the jar is carelessly opened upside down, you’ll get a “jellyphant.”) To spread the jelly, you must first scrub a dog in your bathtub. (Dip the clean tail in the jelly, then pet and praise the dog until it happily wags its tail over the bread slices.) Putting the slices together requires a knightly tournament, but cutting the sandwich, “the least complicated step of all,” involves training a hamster to ride a unicycle. The final pages propose an alternative (but just as outrageous) method and invite readers to think up their own ridiculous techniques. Burach’s scenarios are inventive and hilarious, while his exaggerated cartoon illustrations reinforce the delicious jokiness each step of the way.

A silly snack guaranteed to satisfy the funny bone; kids will eat it up and ask for more.