As a child, I would have eagerly pulled the arms off my Stretch Armstrong in exchange for a s’more. (OK, so maybe I pulled his arms off for no reason, and then let him ooze to death into the carpet under my bed — what’s it to you, Judge E. Pants?)

As an adult, I think s’mores are… meh.

(By the way, we had to cut the carpet out to set him free. R.I.P. Stretched-Arms-Not-So-Strong.)

I have a friend who, every camping trip, always passes on the s’mores and then bogarts all the chocolate she can. Word of advice: if you want to please the S’more Bandit, don’t bring marshmallows or graham crackers; buy her a chocolate bar (the darker, the better), and more wood for the campfire.

As a selfless gesture for all the faithful Campfire Tales readers, I decided to crack the s’mores appeal. (Spoiler alert: I failed. Still working on it.)

Attempt #1. I spotted this candy next to a register, a total impulse buy:

The chocolate, FYI, is delicious. The graham crackers add the perfect crunch.

…but the marshmallows clinging to the underside?

Ridiculous. (And kinda creepy.) Also, in no way s’more reminiscent. S’mores require toasting. These are like marshmallow barnacles.

Attempt #2 (and #3). What about a cocktail? (Good question!)

I went looking for three kinds of liquor (marshmallow, graham cracker, chocolate) and found all three in one. Good shopping, me!

I made a S’moretini, and thought about a chocolate rim or a graham cracker crumb rim or a toasted marshmallow garnish, but what’s the point of making a s’more to drink a s’more, right? Right!

So I went “purist.”

Hmm. Not bad (but not good; kinda chemical-y). Needs… a chocolate rim or a graham cracker crumb rim or a toasted marshmallow garnish. Something.

The S’more Bandit loves peanut butter, so I tried this:

Better. Still needs work.

I’ll let you know when (if) I crack this puzzle.

 

More S’more posts:

S’mores Madness

Slave Free S’mores