Some foods speak to me. In the summer it’s s’mores. It may be because I was deprived for the first ten years of my life. I was told it was longer than that. Either way, we found each other and it’s been 30 ish years of true love.
As a kid, our Cape neighbors invited me over for dinner. Or I invited myself, but somehow I was there. They asked me if I wanted s’mores. I’d never even HEARD of s’mores.
It was a split second decision. Do I claim I know what it’s all about or admit the truth? I eyeball the accoutrement. This doesn’t look like a fake it til you make it situation. I relent,
“I’ve never had them.”
The kids swarm around me,
“YOU’VE NEVER HAD S’MORES?!?!?!?!?”
“You’re going to LOVE them!”
I’m not even sure if I’d ever roasted marshmallows before. Maybe I had and on their own they were unremarkable.
I don’t remember the exact ratio of marshmallows to chocolate to graham cracker that I had, but it was FANTASTIC!
I rushed home to inform my family of the food group they’d been missing.
“They’re called s’mores!!!”
“Never liked them.”
I overcame my family’s failing and have eaten them ever since.
I’ll make them over a fire, the grill, the stovetop, a hand-held lighter and in a desperate pinch I’ve tried the microwave, which is by far the poorest option.
Imagine my joy when a few book clubs ago the host put out a spread including s’mores. My least favorite part of the process is fishing all the ingredients out of the cupboard. She’d done the dirty work for us.
I settled in for some roasting. All of sudden everyone is screaming and yelling at me,
“They’re burning! Your marshmallows are burning!”
I’m confused. Of course they’re burning. That’s how it’s done.
Everyone is appalled. They’re appalled I’m obliterating my marshmallows and I’m appalled this is a thing. I had no idea I was in the minority of s’mores makers.
Then I was at a party and the adults handed out s’mores to the kids. How does this end well?
BB is a lot of different things, but careful and clean are not two of them. She and s’mores will end in a house fire or with marshmallow in her hair.
I step back. I’m the last person who should come between her and this experience.
They hand her one marshmallow and a couple squares of chocolate. It dawns on me that my ratios are not the only way to do it either.
I prefer 6 squares of Hershey’s milk chocolate. I tried dark chocolate once. It’s a no go. And I like 3 marshmallows. It sounds like a lot and it IS messy, but extra delicious.
If I’m going to go to the trouble of digging all that stuff out of the pantry, might as well make the most of it.
BB had success and loves them too. She did not want to burn her marshmallows. I’ll give her the freedom to live with that for now. It’s probably safer.
And this answers the life question I’ve been pondering:
“Do I have enough to say about s’mores to fill a whole blog post?”