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Who doesn’t like s’mores?
I love s’mores. And they’re called s’mores, not smores, because they’re all about “I want some more… I want s’more…”
I don’t care what you say. That’s the story. So there.
Back to my first point. Who doesn’t love s’mores? Toasty, gooey marshmallows, sandwiched between graham wafers with some lovely chocolate that can’t help but melt. My preference is to make them with Caramilk bars; what’s yours? I mean, it adds some lovely caramel-y goodness. Mmm.
So we went camping. In crazy-ass fire season – one spark enough to ignite the entirety of BC.
Obviously, no fires allowed. What to do for a s’mores blog?
I’ll tell you.
We broke out the little Weber barbeque and pulled the cover off the flame. Then we toasted marshmallows over the little blue flame, and mushed their melty goodness between two graham crackers, topped by a square of Caramilk bar.
Did I mention we had a huge, ginormous thunderstorm while all of this was going on? We’re talking direct lightning strikes and Noah’s Ark rain. Crazy. We huddled under the Ross pavilion because we didn’t bring a darned tarp. Holy moly (Di); you’d think camping in August you wouldn’t need a damned tarp.
Then, the next day we watched helicopters scoop water out of the river and douse the smouldering forest fires that cropped up around us.
All in all, a satisfying weekend.
I want s’more.