First, I think I've finally come to terms with s'mores. My main problem with them is the marshmallow. I can't summon the words that adequately express how I feel about these squishy little monstrosities, but you'll get the idea of it if you slowly and repeatedly pronounce the word. Marshmallow. Marsh-mall-ow. Marshmaaaaaaaaallllow.
See? Nasty.
I feel about marshmallows like I feel about mayonnaise. Sometimes, in the smallest possible doses, they help make certain foods yummier. For example, marshmallows are required for Rice Krispie treats, which are delicious. Mayonnaise is required IN SMALL DOSES on some sandwiches, especially those with tuna fish. In general, however, I do my best to minimize my intake of these white and gooey substances.
Maybe this is why I'm not crazy about sucking penises. If I were a chick, I'd opt for spit.
But I digress.
So, not only do I have great disdain for the foam-pillow texture of the marshmallow, but its cloying sweetness leaves me slightly nauseated. Consequently, I'm not a big fan of s'mores, which is minorly problematic because they are the dessert of choice around the campfire.
I believe, however, that I've finally discovered the solution to this problem: bittersweet chocolate. Bittersweet chocolate, unlike its milky cousin, cuts through the sickening sweetness of the marshmallow, creating a superior s'more experience. Of course this may just be one example of how bittersweet chocolate makes everything better.
Finally, I failed to mention that we took a lovely hike on Saturday. The ocean was about half a mile from our campsite, so we hiked down, climbed around on some rocks, found dozens of crabs, some starfish, a couple sea anemones, and were about 20 yards from a group of sea lions. I can't even say anything grumpy or smarmy about that. It was downright nifty.
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6 comments:
I can't get into S'mores either. They are too sweet and ONE is enough. Plus I can never get them to stay put-together when I eat them.
The hike sounds cool.
heh heh. heh. heh. You said "cloying."
I like the idea of roasting marshmallows over a fire. I do like the texture of them, at least in my fingers. But every time I put one in my mouth, thinking that this will finally be the time when I can feel some kind of fellowship with the rest of humanity that seems to almost universally love these things (like the first time I enjoyed beer), I am unfortunately disappointed. Like you said, way too sweet, and the texture in the mouth just, well... it ain't natural. And there's another taste in there besides sweetness, kind of like... what, baby powder? Something like that.
Add to that the fact that every time I have tried joining in with the roasting of the little white beasties, my total lack of manual dexterity has come to the fore, and I have made a mess of things and looked like an incompetent, unable-to-even-roast-his-own-damn-marshmallow idiot. Which I am. I just hate to be outed.
And one more thing. I frickin' hate the word "s'mores." Usually words don't offend me. But something about that word gives me the creeps. Although Wikipedia reports an alternate possible etymology, I am absolutely convinced that that lexical abomination was coined by some atavistic marketing spawn.
Leesa, I used to be a one-s'more man until this trip. The bittersweet chocolate fixed the "too sweet" problem.
Beavis, I'll say it again. Cloying.
Ruvas, yeah, you're right about that extra almost-chemical taste in the marshmallow. Baby powder is a good stab at it. As for your lack of manual dexterity, I can't even conceive of what you're doing wrong. Is it that they catch on fire? That happens to everyone, my friend. Or are you spazzing out and plunging your own face into the flames? You're on your own here, son.
Mostly I mean I can't seem to handle the stick-marshmallow interface, as well as the logistics of the event. I accidentally knock the stick and they fall off. They're not centered properly and they melt or fall off. They jump off spontaneously for no apparent reason. And I always end up with the deformed, pariah sticks. I often can't find a suitable place to sit. The smoke likes to blow in my direction. Overall, I tend to feel like the runt of the litter who can't get any teat while all my bigger, more adept siblings are comfortably suckling. It's pretty horrific, really.
Ruvas, I don't mean to minimize the obvious trauma this has caused you, but I'd suggest sticking the marshmallow more firmly onto the stick.
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