I love barbecues. There’s something about burnt food on a barbecue that tastes infinitely better than the food that I occasionally burn in my kitchen.
And marshmallows. I mean, really. Fire + marshmallow = nom nom sticky nom nom.
Except, of course, that you need to bring skewers or some sort of poky device in order to toast marshmallows. Which, sadly, I failed to do at last night’s barbecue. I ended up talking to the man behind the grill, who declined a marshmallow. He claimed that he had eaten too many as a kid and has been off them since. In fact, he claimed that he ate so many in one sitting that his head became a giant marshmallow and chocolate began to ooze out of his ears. And then someone put his head between two pieces of graham cracker and he became a human s’more.
I’m pretty sure that he was kidding, but man. I could kill for a s’more right now.
P.S. Did you know that there are four marshmallows in a serving. Four!