Roasted

Dear Diary,

Today was a first for me. It hurt at first, but to be fair I was warned. Don’t rush it, they told me. You have to wait. Patience, patience. But I was new to this whole thing. It was hard enough admitting it to everyone.

I’d never roasted a marshmallow before.

Have you ever wanted to try something, but everyone has their own way of doing it?

“Don’t let it burn. Keep it a foot away from the flames.”

“Make sure you burn it. To a crisp.”

“Just let it catch on fire and then blow it out. Real quick so it doesn’t char.”

Christ. Maybe I should have just eaten the thing like I always have. Raw? Is that the right word, diary?

I almost didn’t want to try it with everyone watching. First I just kind of stood back to take in how others did it.

I remember thinking at least a few people were basically eating charcoal. Others burned it just a little, so it was charred but still kind of held the original shape.

My niece, who is four and a half, held it so far from the fire I doubt it was even warm.

She ate hers. “Yummmmm!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.

I figured, if she could do it I could.

I got a stick from the pile.

“You want a long stick.”

“It should be medium.”

“Not too skinny. The marshmallow will fall right off.”

“Not too fat.”

I went with medium. I took the jumbo marshmallow and looked at the end of the stick.

“Don’t put it on too far.”

“Don’t be violent. Be gentle.”

“Don’t just put it on the very end!”

I got a lot of don’ts, but no dos.

I gently pressed the marshmallow onto the stick until it poked out of the other side just the finest bit.

I walked over to the fire pit.

“Let it burn!”

“But just a little.”

“No, a lot! Burn it to a crisp!”

What was I supposed to do, diary? I had no idea. Eventually I held it over the flame and slowly, slowly dropped it into the orange part of the fire. I moved it quickly, but it caught on fire.

“Pull it out of the fire slowly!”

“You don’t want to projectile it across and hit Karen in the face!”

“Man…can you imagine how much that would burn?”

“Poor Karen.”

I slowly pulled the marshmallow out of the fire. It carried tiny flames with it, appearing and disappearing around the edges of the creamy white cylinder. I blew on it gently and the fire was gone.

“It’s barely burnt! Put it back!”

“No, it’s perfect! Try it!”

“You need it to be black and shriveled!”

I put it back into the flames, this time a little higher. It started to melt a bit, but didn’t ignite.

I pulled it out of the flames just before I thought it would ignite, like a fisherman jerking the pole. Then I lowered it just above the flickering flame.

It lit again. This time, no advice. I pulled it out, blew out the flame, and smelled it.

It smelled like char. But everything did because of the fire.

I grabbed it and tried to pull it off the stick. A semi-crunchy outer shell I hadn’t known existed on a marshmallow slid off, leaving the heart of the original treat on my stick. It started burning my fingertips so I quickly shoved it into my mouth.

“Don’t rush it!”

“You have to wait!”

That was dumb, diary.

It burned. A lot. I wanted to scream, but didn’t want everyone to know I’d just made yet another rookie mistake. “Mmm” I said as tears formed in my eyes. A few people laughed. Did they know my mouth felt like it contained hell? It finally started to cool, but it was stuck between my teeth, and to the roof of my mouth. And was there a little stuck to my lip? Yup. There was…and I know this because of the agonizing pain I felt where it glued onto me. Wow. That really hurt.

But the taste. Oh my God, diary. The taste was exquisite. It had the wonderful yummy flavor of a marshmallow…but the charred parts made it all the better. I couldn’t believe I’d gone twenty-five years without trying this. Twenty-five years wasted. I wanted to have this for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Just to catch up with everyone else who had been experiencing this since they were my niece’s age.

That’s when I looked at the stick, and saw the remains, the heart, the guts of the original marshmallow. I could do this again. Then I looked at the bag. It still had a bunch. I could make more. More!

I put the heart back into the flame, where I originally put it when it was whole. I rotated it, wondering if I could get that charred edge around the whole thing. Was anyone looking? I didn’t even care anymore, diary. I just wanted another taste.

It lit on fire, and I slowly rotated it as I pulled it from the fire towards my face. I gently blew on it to put out the fire, and checked it. Only one side was charred. I wanted total char, but just a little. I put it back in, with the white side facing the fire, and waited.

It lit up again, and I pulled it out and blew out the flames. This time, no longer a rookie, I waited. How long do I wait, I wondered. I felt it with my fingertips, squeezing it ever-so gently, to see if it was still hot. It was.

I let it sit on the stick in the cool breeze and waited what felt like forever. Then I touched it with my fingers again, and it was cooler but still warm. This was it.

I pulled it off the stick and popped it into my mouth. This time I didn’t get it on my lip, and it didn’t burn my mouth.

It was even better without the pain.

I couldn’t wait for another. I grabbed the marshmallow and jammed it on, probably not enough, but I didn’t care. I had to have another.

I shoved it into the flame, diary, right in, where it was practically touching the bright orange coals. It lit, way too fast this time, and in a rush I pulled it towards me really fast, so I could blow it out. I didn’t want it completely burnt!

That’s when it flew off the stick.

And hit Karen.

Right in the face.

Love,

Janice.