S'mores, Sh'mores

So I flew 9 1/2 hours on a plane. I passed over an entire country. I crossed a whole ocean. I am an ambassador for my country and generation. A representative of all things United-States-of-American.

So what do Caroline and I deem as appropriate as an introduction to North American cuisine?

S'MORES.

The recipe is simple:

1 Box of graham crackers
1 Bag of marshmallows
1 Giant Bar of chocolate

Joe and I ran down to Budgen's on the corner to purchase said ingredients. First, we couldn't find marshmallows. Joe asked a clerk, who handed us a bag of mini-marshmallows. This simply would not do. Joe said there was a shop across the street. We, willing to risk our lives for proper-sized marshmallows, ran across the street and convinced the shop owner to stay open just a little longer in order to fulfill our mission. We then went back to Budgen's and searched for graham crackers. They did not have these either. So we settled for HobNobs. I don't think graham crackers exist on this side of the Atlantic. We then grabbed the final, essential ingredient and hightailed [as I write this, I am considering henceforth to only write in what some may call a Southern Twang or Cowboy Vernacular, as to fit with the theme of "What One Eats Around a Campfire", but upon further introspection, I have decided against this notion] it home.

As we didn't have a campfire, we decided to use the gas range with some what looked to be antique skewers. The following happiness ensued:






These were the most ridiculous things I have eaten in a really long time. I was reminded why people don't have them on a regular basis. I think I had one a half, and I was done. Overall, a hit with the kids, a sugar rush and subsequent crash for me, and funfunfun for everyone.