Think Bugles dipped in chocolate, then try not to whince, for while I admit that this combination might sound odd and unpalatable, I assure you that it is not. It is, infact, pure mana sent down from the boisterous bounty of very Valhalla. Pure Viking genius I tell you! Because you know how vexing it is sometimes when you can't decide if you want something salty or something sweet? Well fret no more, friends and neighbors, because Smash has made it so you never have to decided again! Salt and sweet in one glorious, crunchy bite. Perfection. And incidently, one of only 5 material benefits that make life in Norway marginally more sustainable than life in America.
Yet somehow, Alpha Grandma and I have found a way to improve on this already heavenly treat.
So without further ado I give you--the Smorsh--
First off, you poor sods stateside are going to have to ask me to send you a bag of Smash, for as far as I know, it's not available over yonder. You're on your own for the marshmallows and the roasting sticks. Once you've gathered these key raw materials, you'll need to stoke up your campfire, then lay out your coals in the usual fashion. Begin by roasting a single marshmallow on all sides to golden, bubbly goodness. Then remove the marshmallow from the coals, and gently lift what Grandma and I hilariously (and not at all childishly) referred to as its foreskin about halfway up the *snickersnickersnortsnort* shaft. Carefully place a single Smash (coneside down) into the resulting sticky hallow, then gently fold the foreskin over the Smash. Now return the whole thing to the coals, and further roast the sticky underbelly of the marshmallow until you see the chocolate tip of the Smash begin to melt. Behold--the Smorsh!
Here's a magnificent picture of Grandma deep throating one of our creations. Observe the quiet rapture. The private ecstasy. I assure you, the Smorsh is every bit as good as it looks.
I'm going to let Alpha Grandma tell you the rest of the story of our 4th of July campfire barbeque. It was, after all, her grace under pressure that got us into the mess in which we ultimately landed. Suffice it to say, it involved skipping stones and two fully-clothed, semi-sober women dragging their sorry American selves out of the lake. There may have been some screeching and extremely hysterical laughter, as well, but it was largerly drowned out by the children's shouts of, "Do it again! Do it again!" and "Me too! Me too!"
Good times, people. Good times.