S’more

When I met my husband, one of the first things we did was to go camping. You learn a lot about people doing that. All the things I discovered about him that weekend were setting the stage for our future together. When I don’t want to be bitten by a mosquito, I stand near him. They love the smell of his pheromones or blood or both. He must have coffee in the morning first thing, absolutely no exceptions and no matter how primitive the camp set-up. When the clutch in his car is almost shot, working together we can get up a steep incline after an overnight rain.

But the kicker is, for all the camping trips he took as a kid, NO s’mores. Really a crying shame and one advantage I had. Personal pride for me really.

Since that time, 19 years ago, we have gathered a bunch of pointers along the way to perfect the technique. My sister takes it to a level beyond where most are prepared to go. She adds toppings, she uses chocolate cookies, she adds sauce. We are usually eating stale graham wafers and hard marshmallows with a hunk of leftover Hallowe’en junk. But not today. My daughter and I picked up a box of fresh wafers, a new dark chocolate bar and lovely soft marshmallows. We adopted a technique from my sister to pre-soften the chocolate on the wafer in front of the fire. This makes the resulting sandwich a piece of sweet cardiac arrest heaven.

The kids asked how many they could have tonight. I said as many as they could eat. My husband decided they were done when he was finished. (The chocolate was gone.) Good times!


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