A few weeks ago the lovely Alysha nominated me for a Liebster award and she seems to be using it as a tool to analyse my entire personality from a single question: “Favourite element of a smore?” Well analyse this, Alysha: I’ve never had a smore.
The smore is a foreign concept here in Australia. It’s almost mythical, like mountain lions and Denny’s. Sure, you hear about it on TV, but to actually experience it is unheard of.
But Alysha helped me realise something. It turns out anyone can have a smore. They aren’t magical. You don’t need to assemble one in a cemetery under the light of a blue moon on a Friday the 13th. All you need is a microwave.
I had a vague idea of how to assemble a smore (thank you Mary-Kate & Ashley in Getting There) but I really needed to do some research. And boy did I research. I watched five different Youtube videos so I think it’s safe to say I’m expert in the field. Does anyone know if they offer PhDs in smore-making?
There are three components to a smore.
1. Biscuits: The videos all talk about brands of biscuits we don’t have. I have no idea what the equivalent was supposed to be, so I worked with what I had: Digestives. They’re delicious, so where could it possibly go wrong?
2. Marshmallows: There’s only one brand of marshmallows in Australia. I never realised it before but when you say ‘marshmallow’, every person in this country will be picturing the same bag of sugary goodness (yes, there’s specialty marshmallow makers but if you can’t buy them at the supermarket I consider them non-existent). Every house also seems to own a bag. When did marshmallows become a household staple along with bread and milk?
3. Chocolate: I didn’t know smores had chocolate. That was an unexpected curveball. Normal chocolate doesn’t melt – it would be a disaster during 40°C summers – and I wasn’t going to make aspecial trip to the shop just to buy melting chocolate. So again, I worked with what I had: chocolate digestives. They’ve got chocolate on one side. It’s like skipping a step. I think the Digestives makers were thinking of smores when they made them.
You don’t need a campfire, bonfire, bushfire or any kind of fire to make smores. All you need is a microwave. Take one biscuit (chocolate-side up) and stick one marshmallow on top. Stick it in the microwave. The marshmallow blows up like a balloon! I know this is general knowledge, but I have never actually experienced the excitement before. I’d also never experienced the emotional pain of seeing it collapse down into nothing once the microwave has stopped.
The result of this process is a slightly warmed biscuit with an extremely flat marshmallow on top. It doesn’t look remotely appetising. In fact it looks like the culinary equivalent of depression, but I’d waited 22 years to get to this point. I wasn’t turning back now.
I placed another biscuit on top. The poor marshmallow was now squashed completely. I had to eat him to let him out of his misery. I took one bite…
Disappointment. That’s what smores taste like. Pure disappointment. Twenty-two years of my life I had been hearing hyped-up claims that smores were a delicious piece of heaven. Well frankly I could go another 22 years without a smore.
The biscuits were both different temperatures. Whose idea was that? The marshmallow was stringy, and somehow it left its sugary deliciousness behind in the microwave. The chocolate burned my mouth.
So, Alysha, you know what my favourite part of the smore was? The end.
I’m ready to stand up and say I don’t understand smores. I don’t get the hype. I don’t get the obsession. I don’t like them. Am I alone in this? Or have I dared to speak a common, but hidden, opinion? Did I make a fatal mistake in the smore-making process?