Two weekends ago I had a hankering for s’mores. No real reason. I just decided I had to have some melted marshmallow. Actually, I think it started when we popped into an Antipodean food shop a few weekends ago and in the Canadian section they had bags of proper marshmallows. I bought two.
I won’t lie, it was a tad dangerous. The skewers were short and we had to basically stick our hands in the flames to get the right roasting angle. I was going for the nice uniform camel brown that my mom was always so good at obtaining.
Well that didn’t happen. After waiting like an impatient child, skewered marshmallow in hand, for the chiminea to be ready, I was waiting no longer. Into the flame it went. There is nothing like a flaming marshmallow to bring back memories of childhood camping mishaps. How many burnt fingers and tongues? How many lost mallows in the fire? How many flying flaming mallows?
Then, yesterday I heard it was National S’mores Day. See? I am psychic! So we just had to have s’mores again. However, this time I wasn’t willing to wait for the chiminea.
This time the chocolate had bits of orange. (I had eaten all the bars I bought for last time.)
Again, we went for the flaming option. What is s’mores without a bit of charring?