The Mother of Invention

One of the joys of being on the open road is the freedom from rules and expectations. No exercise regime, no diet. Following these freedoms one is more open to discoveries. 

My honey, though he claims to have grown up in America, had never eaten a s'more. This appalled me (as well as the clerk at the gas station where we stopped for supplies with whom I shared the alarming fact). Though not grounds for immediate dismissal, I felt a personal obligation to remedy the situation.

He was in charge of the campfire. I was in charge of ingredients. Not a real challenge, there are only three last time I checked. Marshmallows: got 'em. Hershey's bar: got it. Graham crackers... Graham crackers. Nowhere to be found in our one-stop-gas station-convenience store. We got a few more odds and ends and headed back to our cabin to make a fire and roast marshmallows. 

That's when a sense of freedom took over. I threw aside rules and did the unthinkable. I tinkered with a classic. I sandwiched a toasty, gooey marshmallow between two Pringle's. Salty-sweet, gooey-crunchy, and all together good. 

You'll loose the smokey nuance an outdoor wood fire lends it, but you can try the pairing at home if you have a gas stove or, even better, a fire place.