Harshing my Mallow

I'd like to think I'm a good person . . . do unto others yada yada yada.  Yeah well, sometimes it doesn't work out that way.  Especially, when beer, camping and marshmallows enter the equation.

I know, all those things go together perfectly.  So what could possibly make that seemingly ideal combination make me into less than a good person?  A little girl.  That's right, I said it . . . a little girl . . . toasting a marshmallow over a crackling fire.  She seemed so innocent with her puff of sugary goodness impaled on the end of a stick . . . holding it carefully over a wisp of flame . . . toasting it just so . . . turning it evenly so that it turned a luscious shade of golden brown without even the slightest bit of char.  It was truly of work of perfection . . . damn her and that exquisite sublimity poised in all its toasty goodness on the end of that stick.

So, this is what happened.  She was sitting by the fire . . . acting all innocent like and fairly gloating about her perfect golden-brown marshmallow.  She was all but screaming aloud that contained within that flawless crust was oozy,  smooshy, gooey  yumminess and that it was all hers.

I was sitting next to her . . . trying with all my might to ignore her blatantly flaunting the sweet treat.  After what seemed like an eternity of her smugly waving that little bit of heaven around I couldn't take it any more.  I reached over and snatched that amazing little nubbin of nomminess and stuffed it into my mouth.  I couldn't help it . . . if she hadn't been so damned vainglorious I might have been able to control myself.  


Yep, it happened just like that.  Okay . . . maybe not quite just like that.  

It's true the little girl had toasted a marshmallow to absolute perfection.  And she was, indeed, sitting next to me in front of a cozy fire.  It might be a slight exaggeration that she was flaunting it. However, it's also true that I plucked that little treat right off the top of the stick and shoved it into my mouth.  It's is true, as well, that I couldn't control myself.  Did I mention the copious quantities of beer I had consumed leading up to the less that gracious act?  No?  Hmm . . . silly me.

All I know is that I immediately regretted that moment of impulsive weakness.  Everyone around be stared at me in utter disbelief.  I was mortified.  I'm just glad she didn't cry.  


But that was the bestest freaking marshmallow I ever had!  And, I don't even really like marshmallows.  Go figure.

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Rhubarb, Apple and Strawberry Pie

• 1 Cup White Sugar
• 1/2 Cup All-Purpose Flour
• 1/2 Pound Fresh Rhubarb, Chopped
• 2 Small Apples, Peeled And Diced
• 2 Pints Fresh Strawberries
• 1 Recipe Pastry For A 9 Inch Double Crust Pie
• 2 Tablespoons Butter
• 1 Egg Yolk
• 2 Tablespoons White Sugar

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F


In a large bowl, mix flour and sugar. Add strawberries and chopped rhubarb. Toss with sugar and flour and let stand for 30 minutes.

Pour filling into pie crust. Dot top with butter, and cover with top crust. Seal edges of top and bottom crust with water.

Apply yolk to top of pie, using a pastry brush. Sprinkle with sugar. Cut small holes in top to let steam escape.

Bake at 400 degrees F for 35 to 40 minutes, or until bubbly and brown. Cool on rack.