For the first time this weekend, my son roasted marshmallows. It was an instant hit. I, of course, roasted some too and was quickly reminded of many, many, evenings in the summers of my childhood where we roasted hot dogs, marshmallows and had so much fun.
Everyone has a preference with their roasted marshmallow it seems (although, mine would be between chocolate and graham crackers, those weren’t on hand.) I prefer a nice, dark brown colour. My grandfather liked them burnt. My son has a fondness for the middle only. I remove the darker, crisp layer, and he eats the melty middle part.
Memories are being developed and I love sitting around the fire with our perfect roasting sticks (as kids we used wire hangers!!! Anyone else do that?) and talking with him, laughing and eating.
Tonight, he has requested that we roast marshmallows again.
And we’ve agreed.
