Please tell me that I’m not the only one who thinks of this scene from The Sandlot when people start talking about s’mores. I think it will forever be engrained in my memory, especially the ubiquitous “You’re killing me smalls!” (one of my favorite lines to throw out at students who are driving me crazy).
As this scene so eloquently portrays, s’mores are a great American pastime, so much so that you’re hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t grow up making them, whether in the backyard, at the campsite, or in the kitchen.
We used to make s’mores the boring, modern, semi-cheating way when I was growing up: layer a piece of chocolate and a marshmallow on top of a graham cracker, put it in the microwave, and time it juuuuuuuust right: enough to soften up the inside of the mallow, but not so long that it explodes and you have to start all over again.
I suppose this method was efficient enough, but it never compared to the real deal, roasting the mallows on a stick (preferably a dirty twig picked up off the ground) around a fire. Timing was key with those, too: you wanted to roast the mallow to a deep, golden brown, but you didn’t want it to catch fire so long that it turned into a piece of charcoal. When you got it right, you got it so. right.
And my friends, I got it so. right. with these S’mores Bars too.
This is not my recipe, so I’m not going to take an ounce of credit for it. I got this recipe from The Hungry Mouse who notes that it’s a recipe that’s been making its way around the blog world for awhile (recently I’ve seen it appear on Pinterest, too).
I guess I’ll take credit for finding it, for spending way too much money on the ingredients for it, and for recreating it perfectly. This is not a dessert for the faint of heart or for those who give a damn about calories. As Jessie from The Hungry Mouse notes, “Stop what you’re doing, put on your fat pants, and get yourself in the kitchen.” That’s advice that I am happy to take if the results look (and taste) like these.
The only downside has been trying to keep Nick away from these things long enough that we still have something to take with us to my brother’s BBQ tonight.
You’re killing me, Smalls.