Pizzelle S'Mores

We grew up in a crowded house.  Four kids, two parents, a variety of pets, an occasional cousin, and a ton of books, music, and love.  My father's artwork adorned the walls, his wood carvings the shelves, and when we needed extra room, he built on the additions himself.  We were two to a room, and never lonely for company.  Vacations?  Money didn't allow the white beaches of the gulf coast, the Magic Kingdom, or a gleaming hotel property off Central Park.  Our chariot was a station wagon, the highway dashes our yellow brick road, and our castle was an 80 lb. six person canvas tent, complete with heavy gauged aluminum poles to keep it all from falling down around our shoulders.  We strapped it to the roof rack along with our duffle bags, and said the occasional prayer that when we reached a stop on the road, everything would still be in it's place, safe and dry.  We had the backseat folded down, and sleeping pads and bags all laid out for my brother, sisters, and Susie, the beagle /hound mix.  We were less concerned with seat belts in those days, and more concerned with  carsickness and dog farts.

This was how we rolled.  There would be a cooler in the back of the wagon, a few boxes of provisions, and we would pick places along our route to pull over and prepare a meal.  My mother was a trooper.  Looking back I now see she was a mixture of Mother Theresa, Gandhi, with a little JC thrown in.  She was map reader, trip organizer, cook, nurse, housekeeper, referee, mender, and hug provider, when feelings were raw.  In contrast, my father's job on these trips was much more succinct.  He was the driver, decider, and enforcer.  When one of us got too carried away with our cleverness, loudness, or complaining, that arm resting deceptively atop the front bench seat of the station wagon, could spring to action like a snake, and find it's target with pinpoint accuracy.  I think all of us kids have a mark somewhere, a slight indentation from the weighty college ring on his right hand.

We traveled to the north woods of Wisconsin, Minnesota, and the mountains of Colorado with this well oiled system of car camping.  It was what we could afford, and I wouldn't have changed a thing (with the exception of a lighter tent and gear).  We learned to live closely and love fiercely.  We hiked, camped, fished, swam, and sang songs by the campfire.  We learned about the natural world, and our places in it.  We learned teamwork, problem solving, and at times, patience and compassion.  We also became more self sufficient, creative, and most of us even learned how to use the bathroom in a rainstorm without tracking mud on each other's belongings on the return run.  Imagination in the outdoors was way more entertaining than gadgets of distraction, and my father's guitar, song repertoire, and good voice made a fine substitute for evening television.

My mother brought a touch of home with us wherever we went, with her camp cooking.  She could make magic happen with hot coals, a fire grate, and other rudimentary tools.  She could fry up fish when we caught them, and always had the ability to prepare a balanced diet for six on a shoestring budget, no matter the difficulties.  The most amazing memories I have of her talents, was the ability to surprise us with a treat from time to time.  Something she could make from a secret stash of tasty ingredients, squirreled away from the scrounging paws of her kids.  Sometimes we would be surprised with a simple pudding with the fresh berries she had had us pick earlier,  sometimes it was a bag of snicker doodle cookies she brought from home, but my favorite was when she would break out the marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers for S'Mores.  S'Mores remain as one of my favorite comfort foods of all time.  Like all good comfort foods, it isn't just full of taste, but of memories and warmth.  The sensation of eating a S'More, feels a whole lot like being embraced with a warm chocolatey hug from a loving mom.  To kick off this blog right, I present a warm hug to all my fellow comfort food junkies with a slightly more adult Pizzelle S'More:

Ingredients:
Vanilla pizzelle cookies,
Marshmallows of choice
Dark chocolate bar with sea salt and almonds

To make:
Hike somewhere where you can see the stars at night with some friends or loved ones.
Build a campfire.
Find a green stick and sharpen to a point.
Do not lose temper and use stick on friend or loved one, but reserve for cooking marshmallows over coals.
Eat a good dinner and enjoy a beverage of your choice.
Tell some stories while roasting Marshmallows, preferably embarrassing ones of a personal nature.
Unwrap chocolate bars and break into pieces which reflect your individual love of chocolate.
Place chocolate on vanilla pizzelle cookie.
Place oozy roasted Marshmallow on top, using another Pizzelle to help scrape marshmallow off stick.
Press down top cookie until melted chocolate and marshmallow ooze out the sides.
Consume, lick your fingers, and decide how many more you can eat in good company without appearing gluttonous.

Welcome to the blog.  I invite you to share your own memories and recipes that bring you comfort in these times of stressful living.  My goal is to share my work and a little something personal.  I would like to share my comfort foods and yours, accompanied with photos, recipes and stories.  I will aim to recreate what you provide, and hope to spread comfort and a sense of family.  I have quite a few on my list, and I am sure you do as well, so don't be shy.