I'm a writer. I write m/m erotica. Kind of dark stuff, even though in real life I like rainbows and puppies and kittens. Not all at once though. That would be overwhelming.
A while ago, I mentioned to my co-writer J.A. Rock that I had no idea what s'mores were. A while later, I got a parcel full of marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. And ILLUSTRATED INSTRUCTIONS.
Here it is, ladies and gentlemen, J.A. Rock's Field Guide to S'mores.
(Tip: While reading, play "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor in the background.)
The Execution: Well, I have to admit that I went a little bit off plan. For starters, I didn't have the courage of 10 000 men. I had the courage of two nine-year-old boys, a six year old girl, my sister and my mum. So, you know, that's probably the equivalent of the courage of 20 000 men.
Also, it's 30 degrees here today, and not really the sort of weather for a campfire. (I Googled it for the Americans - that's 86 of your degrees.) So instead of a campfire, we had a next of tea lights on my dining room table. Seemed to do the trick.
There were also no sticks involved. My garden is infested with possums. I'm not using any utensil a possum might have peed on, thanks. So we used chopsticks. Again, it seemed to work.
But I wasn't the only one who went off plan. Here is Meg with her "s'more": What can I say? She's a rebel.
We also ran into some problems with Step 3. While I don't think it was intentional, Tom's friend Hamish did set fire to his marshmallow. Twice. But then he ate it anyway. In fact, he was so impressed with s'mores that he made extra for his parents and his grandmother, and wrapped them up in foil to take home.
The verdict: S'mores are incredibly sticky. Like, you think a thing's going to be sticky, and then it's stickier than you imagined would be possible. And how yummy were they? Well, I'll let Tom tell you: