S'more Fever

My favorite food is a s'more. It's so simple, so delicious, and a pseudo-craft. In the past couple years, the world has caught on. America, at least, has s'more fever. Will s'more be the next pumpkin? A batty craze meant to infuse a fake sense of seasonal joy into our bloodstreams? Honestly, I hope so.

I've done a comprehensive look at all things s'more before. It was published here. In the past couple months, I have tried four new s'more novelties, so I am going to write about them, as one is want to do.

1. Starbucks S'more Frappuccino--I can't believe this didn't already exist. Here's the deal: pretty dang tasty, pretty dang s'morey too. The taste AND the texture of the marshmallow are preserved--v crucial. Graham cracker crumbs--choice. I had a decaf one once though, which was basically a bucket of chocolate drizzled ice and whipped cream, so, I guess, I don't recommend that. Necessarily. B+

2. Starbucks S'more Tart--SERVED WARM. Dang, this tart has it all. The marshmallow manages to be slightly crispy (a la campfire for reals!) and the chocolate is v rich 'n' gooey. The graham is a bit more thick and pie-crusty than a typical s'more would allow, but it was buttery, so who's complaining? A

Selfie text from Bisque that made me squeal!

3. S'more Oreos--Fun fact: several people alerted me to the news these were being made, and three people have already bought me some. I am a s'more celeb! Thoughts: the cookie does taste graham-y--but only slightly different than a typical Oreo cookie. The creme tastes like creme. I wasn't getting a 'mallow vibe TBH. Still, it's a good cookie. It's just not the most impressive take. B+

4. Maggiano's Dessert S'more Special--This was a special one-month-only dessert at the Lettuce Entertain You staple Maggianos. And that fact will make me sad for the rest of my life because this slab of s'more cake was literally the best thing I have ever eaten. I am not kidding. I've eaten sushi in Japan, fresh noodles in Italy, this weekend at the best restaurant in Chicago, and I would give it all up for a s'more cake. Thick crumbly s'more crust, fat slab of chocolate mousse, ample marshmallow topping that has been blow torched to smokey perfection, drizzles of caramel. Truly my favorite food of all time. If you think that's lame, then you clearly DIDN'T TRY ANY. A+++

That's the s'more round-up for now. Why more companies haven't gotten onboard is beyond me. I'm lookin at you Dunkin Donuts with your lack of S'more Munchkins.

Badlands

An interesting thing about the Badlands is that their namesake comes from people trying to settle in South Dakota. On maps you'd simply note "Bad land" because a bunch of rocks is pretty crummy land for your family bungalow.

But now many generations later, "Badlands" evokes many different connotations--very little of which are accusatory or critical of the geography. It is a place people go out of their way for. I know because I was one of these people, WHILE I WAS VERY HUNGRY no less. (Thus is the nature of family road trips--someone flouncing around with a camera while another someone stews angrily in the front seat. But ultimately we stopped at Wall Drug Store and I had half a maple donut plus a s'more ice cream cone, so things worked out.)

Red Envelopes

So many young men have crumpled

backs from the wind,

clomping through Harvard Square holding

paper-wrapped bouquets.

Bisque points to a guy middle-age

outside the taco shop

penning a card.

"Last minute," he says

because his letter to me (the one with the s'more on it--

'I love you s'more every day')

is in his backpack

sealed, ready

for our date.

On Wednesday he left a vase of roses and

Reese's Cups on my kitchen table.

A tiny potted ivy for Ro. A pink flower for Rora.

Over high-end hazelnut cocoa

we hold hands.

We haven't been all day because there are children

to lasso. But they're all off

in the slushy streets. Doing

their own

stuff.

So we hold hands and we exchange red envelopes

(mine for him, two peanuts hugging)

with messages that sound

the same.

Every day is a better day.

The ultimate Valentine.

I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here

"Seriously though, eating eggo waffles braless in ALASKA is unforgettable."--Ro

There is very literally nothing I'd rather be doing this night of May 19th than enjoying a s'more scooby snack, writing a commissioned piece of theatre criticism, wearing pjs, and listening to the Annie soundtrack in this luxurious queen. And there's a new Mad Men on in an hour?! Like what da heck, get right out of here! It's so powerful to know what you love and to make it happen for yourself!

Get me now, holy cow, could someone pinch me please?

Repeat

Tuesday was Hill's last day of classes. Ever. It's on and up to her dissertation now. I met her outside the library. It was hot. That's a given now. Our classmate who I think looks like Edward Norton walked by and joined us. A friendly guy.

They discussed "___Cake" (an affectionate name for a professor who I do not know very well). ___Cake loves you, they tell me. Or, rather, loves to talk about me. This is news. I ask About What? and our friend says, "Oh, mostly your rack." Which is said so sweetly I would never feel uncomfortable, plus also he is of the gay variety (although I definitely don't think that is a Get Out of Harassment to Women Free card). Anyway, there was a real reason about playwright's rights or something. Neither here nor there.

What is here and there is why I am telling you about this exchange, which is to properly offer exposition to the next chunk of story. Friday night Hill and her beau (Neek) and me and my beau were having post-theatre* drinks and dessert at a swanky downtown restaurante/bar. I had the Aztec hot cocoa with pumpkin whipped cream and s'more.** There was a DJ, whom we were seated right next to. At one point boys were talking about sports*** and Hill and I were all academia on our side of the tabletop. She referenced the ___Cake mentions of me again, and I jokingly was all, "Oh, about my rack?" But, I actually was more like, "OH, ABOUT MY RACK?" because the Regina Spector had been like, supes loud. But at the very moment the DJ was actually like taking a break? So he was like, "..." and the boys were like, "..." and my face was like...I mean, insert clip art of a tomato I guess. Real stuff that happened, y'all.

*We saw Clybourne Park, and it was phenom, and I want to dedicate an entry to that alone when I have more mental space/sanity LOL FINALZ.
**I told this to Chelle yesterday, and she said, "they literally put all your favorite things together" and I was like, "I know. Believe me, I am aware."
***I wish I were less of a stereotype so I didn't have to type that sentence, but, YOLO, how many quarters are in a basketball game?! idk.

Texts from Dizz

ME: Meanwhile, I'm making Easter S'mores.
        (Insert photo of a Peep with a Cadberry mini egg on it's face.)
DIZZ: That looks so disgusting.
DIZZ: None of that is real food.
ME: Says the girl who used to eat dry cocoa powder by the cup.
DIZZ: #judging #judgingsomeoneforjudgingisstilljudging

Dizz and her husband. December.

And if the whole world's singing your songs,
and all of your paintings have been hung,
just remember what was yours is everyone's from now on.