My boyfriend came to Canada by way of Germany.
Since we’ve been together, the differences in our passports have meant several important things.
It has meant that the more difficult, anxiety ridden times in our relationship have been caused mostly by things like Immigration laws. Visas. Customs Officers. Paperwork. Things that sometimes bite you in the bum, when you least expect it. Not fun things, not fun things at all.
Also, it has meant that our bank accounts have taken on the blows that come from the costs associated with trans-Atlantic flights being purchased, just to see each other.
It has meant that at family gatherings, his, the tables are covered with an astounding variety of German cakes, and I have learned that each and every one of them goes well with a glass of sekt. And that at family gatherings, mine, he has been introduced to the popular local phenomenon of all-you-can-eat-sushi. And he has proven that all-he-can-eat is really a lot.
It means that he is very appreciative of this vast land our country enjoys, and jumps at every chance to explore our great outdoors. It means that his jaw drops every time we are somewhere you can see the ocean and the mountains at the same time, which is many places in Vancouver, and is wonderful.
It means he is very fun to go camping with.
And, speaking of which, it meant that, until a few weeks ago, he had no idea what a S’more was.
I explained to him that a S’more is a melty combination of graham cracker, marshmallow and chocolate. But I wanted more to say. Because in our little North American raised hearts, a S’more really is something more. As much melted nostalgia as deliciousness.
A few weeks ago my friend had us over for dinner. And she made S’mores for dessert. Using Triscuit crackers. And a microwave. It sounds kinda strange, but it wasn’t. They were delicious, and a very reasonable introduction to the North American campfire delicacy.
When we went camping, we made them with Nutella; also a fine sub-category of the S’more.
Last week, I wanted to use up the remaining graham crackers, and ended up with these ‘Ice Cream S’more Fondue Sandwiches’. From the name, it does sound like four different foods. But it is one. And it is good.
Soft and gently spicy graham crackers hugging creamy, toasted marshmallow ice cream and dipped into warm, melted dark chocolate made rich and creamy with butter, they taste kind of like laughter, if laughter were a flavor.
So technically I still haven’t introduced my boyfriend to the classic S’more. I guess my work is still cut out for me.
For me the real star of this recipe is the ice cream. Making the sandwiches and fondue is fun and pretty straightforward, but it is a little more labor intensive than, say, not making the sandwiches and fondue. The ice cream itself is simple, easy to serve, and really outstanding. It is one of those things where the whole is so much more than the sum of its parts – something sort of magical happens when melted marshmallows are tucked into fatty dairy products. More creamy than I can describe, with a warm, toasty flavor, the taste is simple but very indulgent.
I imagine milkshake nirvana would be easily achieved via toasted marshmallow ice cream, and as somewhat of a milkshake aficionado, I think I might be the right person to test out this theory.
Recipe
I cup milk
I cup whipping cream
2 egg yolks
200g marshmallows
Package of graham crackers*
200g dark chocolate
75g butter
*The ones I used were from Trader Joe’s. They are coated in sugar and very lovely. Best of all, somehow Trader Joe’s manages to convince that everything they sell is completely healthy. Even cookies.
For the Toasted Marshmallow Ice Cream:
Preheat oven to 400
Spread marshmallows on foil, on a baking tray, and put them in the oven until they are gently browned. This should take around 10 minutes, so keep an eye on them!
Meanwhile, in a medium sized saucepan, heat the milk and cream together until the mixture just begins to simmer. In a small bowl, whisk together the egg yolks. Slowly pour about ½ cup of the hot milk to the bowl, stirring all the time, to temper the eggs. Pour the egg mixture back into the saucepan.
Once the marshmallows are browned, you should act relatively quickly, as they harden fast. Using a spatula, place all the marshmallows into the saucepan, and stir until the marshmallows are mostly integrated.
Allow the mixture to cool at room temperate (will take about a half hour).
Cover, and put in the freezer. Still every hour or so for about 3 hours, until the ice cream is solid enough to hold its shape.
For the Sandwiches & Fondue:
Spoon desired amount of ice cream onto one cracker, then sandwich another one on top. Put them in the freezer until you’re ready to serve.
In a heavy bottomed saucepan, melt the chocolate with the butter over a low heat, stirring occasionally. Serve with ice cream sandwiches while chocolate is still warm, preferably to people with whom you don’t mind double dipping.
To be honest, packing for a camping trip usually involves me scouring my pajama trunk for things that a) are relatively appropriate for public wear b) are warm and layerable and c) I wouldn’t mind ripping, getting dirty or smelling like campfire for the next few months… which usually results in me wrapping myself up in a giant mess of fleece, wool and flannel. Throw in a swimsuit, a few waterproof items and a toothbrush and I’m set. Part of what I love about camping is the comfort of not caring how I look, wearing no makeup and not seeing my reflection in a mirror for a few days.
At the same time I like the idea of being inspired by the colorful and accidental awesomeness of the above photos. It’s also kinda nice to pretend that I’m as in tune with nature as Pocahontas, or that my humidity induced afro makes me look like Beyonce, and not this guy.
I think the following items would make for some nice camping accessories that I would also use in the city, or in the case of the tents, in my living room.
The Wendy House teepee, hand-stitched using recycled yacht sailcloth and poplar stick pole, by Leila Sanderson for Greg Hatton Designs.
Planning a surprise trip is pretty much as fun as being taken on one. For Marcel’s birthday I thought it would be fun to take him camping without telling him where we’d be going. The night before the trip I threw him a paper airplane with a few ideas of what to pack (i.e. passport) as I poked around B.C. and Washington on Google Satellite. Watching him go a little nuts with excitement and curiosity may or may not have been my favorite part of the trip.
I am dating a human compass. Despite the efforts I took in blindfolding and driving in circles around the roundabouts near our house to disorient him, his methods involved determining the type of street we were on by guessing the speed I was driving at and figuring out from the echo nearby that we were driving next to a wall. When he guessed that we were on the Burrard Bridge by judging the incline of the hill we were driving up, I had to resort to all kinds of desperate tactics from reverse psychology, to detours on bumpy, residential streets, to pretending I had no idea there was a bridge and a highway at the end of Oak street. Which basically leads me to conclude that I could drop him off somewhere in the middle of the Milky Way with an apple and some matches and he would happily find his way home in one piece, without breaking a sweat.
The weatherman is not my homeboy. Aside from the sunshine-filled hour we spent in Seattle, the weather performed an unpredictable modern dance, fluctuating rapidly between heavy downpour, gentle drizzle, overcast, and thick fog. But fog can be beautiful, and if you are the type whose self-esteem is not tarnished when the fire you built, and proudly announced to be roaring, is promptly extinct (I, unfortunately, am not that type, as I was pretty bummed when my little bonfire died), rain can make for a nice excuse to hang out in the tent and is pretty much the best sound to wake up to.
Horror films are not so great for the mental health. While Marcel was making sure to pack up crumbs to avoid attracting, you know, wild animals, the fog set over our empty campground, making the perfectly spooky setting for me to begin fearing things like Wearwolves, Carrie, and Candyman jumping out of the bushes to attack me. The cheap scary movies I watched through the night at many a teenage slumber party seem to have taken their toll.
It is very hard to resist running up to a black bear and forcing him into an involuntary cuddle session. I’ve heard that this isn’t the best thing to do around bears. But they are incredibly cute.
Camping Food > All Other Food. From snacks we got at Pike Place and picnicked on while waiting for the ferry, to scallops fried with pinapple and bell peppers and shakshuka cooked over a little propane burner, the past couple days I’ve felt very well fed. I’m not sure why, but food eaten straight from the pot, off the lap of my fleece pants, with a shared set of cutlery, is just better than anything else.
When left to my own devices, I can and will take a ridiculous amount of photos from the passenger seat. Apparently I just can’t get enough. Here I am, caught in the act, in Seattle, driving into the Olympic National Park, at our campsite, and at Hurricane Ridge.
Billy Joel was onto something in this song. Okay I already knew that one. Billy Joel is always onto something. But still. This song seems fitting.
