I Love S’mores
I love s’mores.
With a capital L, that kind of love. Oh, I’m not saying I’d run away and marry a s’more, but I would definitely jump on a midnight transatlantic flight and always have Paris with one.
For the last three years, I have denied my love for s’mores. When summer rolls around and graham crackers, Hershey bars and marshmallows begin to gather in the grocery store aisles like hoodlums hellbent on being up to no good, I turn my back and quickly walk the other way. But this year… this year I cracked under the massive marshmallowy pressure and I finally bought all the necessary ingredients. That was eight days ago and I still haven’t made them. Why, you ask, if you love the stuff so much, have you not satisfied your culinary craving for the yummy, crispity, melted chocolatey goodness that has been calling to you for three frickin’ years, haunting your every waking moment, singing to you like mermaids luring sailors to a grisly oceanic death? For heaven’s sake, woman, you cry. Go make yourself a s’more!
Well, I would, but there’s a problem. I am a delicate flower of womanhood, damn it, and I am not (yet) so insane that I’m willing to build a bonfire outside where it’s a 101 muggy-ass degrees at night, in a yard without air-conditioning.
Yards with air-conditioning are usually called “inside”. People get uptight when you build fires while the AC is running and every fan in the house is on. We do have a fireplace, but we haven’t used it. Ever. It looks safe enough, but anything at all could be going on up in that chimney and I’m unwilling to start something that could potentially burn the whole place down until I’ve had a professional come check it out and give it a good cleaning.
And then today it struck me. I could buy a s’more cooker. Holy Hannah! Have you seen the cost of those things? The prices I saw ranged between $30 and $65, with one oddball listed at just over $8, not including the shipping ($15 for a total of $23, but with a wait of 3-5 days, so… that’s no good). I balk at paying that much for something I’m only going to use once and then store away for three more years until I can’t stand the craving any more. All I need is a lovely little tabletop fondue sort of thing capable of roasting marshmallows. Why is this so hard?
“Just go buy a tin tray, fill it with charcoal and light it on the back deck?” my ex suggested.
Ya’ll, we’ve nicknamed our back deck Mordor. There is no shade out there. From noon until the death of the day, the sun is full on that sucker. Anyone caught out there without an adequate water supply and a hot pad for the door handle is doomed to die and there’s not one damn thing those of us inside could do to help you. Except make sure your share of the s’mores don’t go to waste.
“I’ll meet you halfway,” I said. “How about if I bring the pan inside and open a window for the smoke?”
He said no, but then I knew he would. He always was unreasonable and worse than Grumpy Cat.
And then it hit me. I could make my own s’more cooker. How hard can it be? Sounds like famous last words, doesn’t it? But no, it cost me $8 at the store for a bag of aquarium gravel and two 6-oz cans of cooking fuel (check your camping aisle–it’s awesome stuff). This gave me enough to make two cookers. One for me; one for everyone else, because my generosity only goes so far and D and MG live an hour away. If they don’t know, I don’t have to share.
Click here for the instructions if you want to try it. I nestled my fuel cans inside two oversized coffee cups (heh… I have stock) and just as soon as my sisters are awake, I’m cracking the cans open and lighting up! Woot Woot! I’m having s’mores tonight!