Like an army, if the army was attacking with cuddles and butterfly kisses.
I know a guy who is not a sweet eater, yet recently rhapsodized about these as he chatted with friends and relatives all night at a party. It was pretty entertaining watching him nurse one as if it was 100-year-old brandy instead of a s’more.
This recipe has been in my repertoire since 1998, which I can tell you for sure because I still have the Martha Stewart Living Magazine from whence it came.
I do not make it because it is easy (it is in fact a bear to make. A bear, a leopard, and a three-toed sloth on an off day, to be precise). I don’t make it because it’s quick (nope again; it takes several hours). I make it because even people who aren’t sweet eaters dig it, even people who swear by Walgreen’s marshmallows stacked on Hershey’s chocolate dig it, and everyone else as well. S’mores, like foot rubs and Maltese puppies in teacups, are one of the human race’s common denominators of happiness.
And these are especially special because the ingredients are a few boosts up from the campfire classics. Broken down:
The marshmallows: Homemade. They take a long time to cool and set, but making them isn’t hard. And the result is not even in the same hemisphere as the Walgreen’s variety—pillowy, squooshy, pully, and far lighter than store-bought.
The chocolate: It’s mixed with butter and melted, making an already rich thing richer. Go high-quality. Ghirardelli is a good jumping-off point. Gritty, off-tasting basic supermarket brands are not going to cut it.
The graham-cracker base: That’s Honey Maids (or whatever you like best), ground and mixed with butter and sugar.
A big also: Once assembled, Martha suggests putting the lot under the broiler to caramelize the marshmallow tops. But really, this recipe is a good excuse to treat yourself to a small but powerful butane torch.
Me with my weapon of destruction.
Some tips I’ve learned along the way, lifted from my pencil scribbles in the margins:
-Spread out the process over a couple of days, or give yourself the day with an early start (and if you can snag a little nap before the event, take it).
-Grind up the graham cracker mixture in a food processor.
-Brush the marshmallow pan very well with vegetable oil, add parchment, and brush that well with oil, too. Marshmallow is like a two-year-old: sweet, soft, sticky, and stubborn. It is wonderful, but it will fight you. Placate the beast ahead of time and things will go far more smoothly. Oil everything very well.
-I really like to taste the vanilla, so I use quite a bit more extract than the recipe calls for—up to twice as much. If you’re the same, I encourage you to do the same.
-Spread the powdered sugar into a rimmed cookie sheet, and use plenty of it. Then put the whole marshmallow on top. Decide whether you want large or small s’mores (I’ve done both) and cut accordingly. When you cut them, turn them on all sides into the sugar to coat and de-stickify.
-You may have marshmallows left over. This will not be a problem for any children in your household, nor for most adults. They’re delicious plain, on a sandwich with really good-quality peanut butter (yes, it certainly exists), dipped in chocolate, or—this is the best—floating on top of your hot chocolate.
My cooking class (one of many), circa 2003, hopped up on sugar. I made classic s’mores with them under a strict agreement that when I turned on the torch, they had to sit on their hands (little kids will reach for anything). They did it.
Despite the extensive list above, do make these. Then eat them slowly. They are not to be rushed.
And do spring for a butane torch. Tell the kids to sit on their hands and have at it. You will be the rave of the schoolyard (not a bad position to be in).
It’s blurry, but still conveys all the love, wonder, and tragic beauty of a dish that’s about to be devoured. This was our inaugural s’more effort, made for Thanksgiving dessert.
