Marshmallow Memories of Summer

Like the clouds against a clear azure summer sky, Marshmallow Memories look different through the eyes of each of us. My first memories of these fluffy wonders bring my mind to the way my Grandma was the anchor that kept the family together. Every get-together, from family reunions to barbecues in her backyard, would always come back to the meal course that everyone raved about; her fruit salad dessert. Sure, anyone could make it, with all its simplicity, but it was hers. She owned that sweet flavor of canned mandarin oranges and pineapple tidbits, with maraschino cherries scattered perfectly enough to make the thick sour cream smoother, sweeter, and turn it light pink. But the cherries, ironically, were not the “cherry on top”. An entire bag of marshmallows was mixed thoroughly into each batch to make it into everyone’s stored subconscious, that no matter who made it in the future, we see my Grandma’s angel face smiling at us with every bite.

But at my childhood home, delicious things were a lot less planned out and organized. In fact, nearly everything was accomplished haphazardly. Both of my parents worked full time, so a lot was either done on the go or creatively improvised. I was a low-maintenance only child, and any “fun” foods were usually experienced when I had sleepovers at our house with the neighbor girls. If we wanted melted marshmallow treats, we didn’t get a time-consuming and hazardous bonfire, or the opportunity to turn them into a hot, gooey blob over the barbecue. Working parents are tired at the end of the week, so energy needs to be conserved as much as possible. If my parents had the stamina to go to the store, S’mores were made in the microwave. If we only had miniature marshmallows in the cupboards, I came up with the magical tradition of putting them on toothpicks and roasting them over an unscented candle.

Nostalgia also brings me back to one of my coming-of-age moments, back to July 4th, 1997, when neighbors still gathered for block parties, and pancake breakfasts. I woke up early that morning with a nagging creative food idea and drove to pick up ingredients at the store. I made a basic pan of Rice Krispie Treats, but made it into an American flag with red, white, and blue frosting. I was a little hesitant to put it on the community breakfast table for two major reasons; Because I never have had a patient hand for art, and because people were already going to be full of pancakes and syrup. But I ignored my doubts and painstakingly spread the frosting into the best stars and stripes that I could possibly create, and brought it out to serve the crowd. My tribe did not disappoint my fragile ego, and in fact, it may be the sole reason that I keep attempting to be a good cook 40 years later. I went back into the house to grab something, and when I came back five minutes later, every single piece was gone, and I was asked multiple times to make it again every year.

Today I have three children of my own, and we have our very own Marshmallow Memories. I became the sleepover mom that makes backyard bonfires for marshmallow roasting, scary stories, and at-home camping. I have inherited my Grandma’s famous fruit salad recipe, and I secretly swear that it is one of the main reasons my chef husband endures my mediocre cooking skills. My hope for my children is that they know that all people from all backgrounds deserve recognition, love, and inclusion, which is why I love to provide them with opportunities to experience different cultures through food. They have even had marshmallows from around the world, including Islamically Halal, Jewish kosher, and anything in between cinnamon, chocolate, and Japanese Mochi flavored ones. Who knew marshmallows could be so good at storytelling?