103 Ashan, 724
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It had been a few days. A few days that were measured in weeks, or so it had felt to Kotton. He had expended an exorbitant amount of energy over the course of the last few days twiddling his thumbs and watching with an intense gaze at the practice of various bartenders. He had come across many talented individuals, but there was one in particular who had shined brighter than the others. The mechanics this bartender had utilised were astounding. The speed of which they made their beverages, the flicks of the wrist, and the ever crowd-pleasing tricks- (especially the one where they flipped a tray holding a full glass of whisky) was absolutely phenomenal.
After he had left the bar and returned home, he couldn’t help but spend the rest of the night asking himself questions and furthering his curiosity in the ways of mixology. How were mules made? Did cocktails always contain the same doses of alcohol? What was a heavy handed pour and why did that matter? What was the importance of the green filigree or decorative citrus fruit wedges? No one really used the slice of lemon to make their drink more sour, did they?
Even with the knowledge he had accumulated, Kotton was left with more questions than conclusions. The conclusions he was able to make were diligently notated in his trusty journal. In fact, he had felt so confident in his notes that he decided he had spent far than enough time thinking about how to make drinks. He was curious about how to make something else now.
Many, many seasons ago he had attended a party with Worick and his friends. It was just a group of guys drinking beer, talking shop, and making lewd comments about women. But it was an experience Kotton had never experienced before. Everyone had positioned themselves around a firepit in one of their backyards. One of the guys had started to describe a delicious dessert involving marshmallows, chocolate, and honey wheat crackers, but his recount of the recipe by leaps and bounds dissolved into the many other voices trying desperately to talk over one another. Still, Kotton could remember enough details from what he had said to feel assured in his ability to recreate it. And based on how tasty it sounded, he really wanted to make it.
He had the materials after all. Marshmallows? He couldn’t even begin to remember when or where he had gotten them, but there they were, just sitting in a bag in one of his kitchen cupboards collecting dust. The bag, not the marshmallows, thankfully. Chocolate? He always had a small stash of chocolate. And it was kept in a secret place only he could find. His grandfather had told him once that eating chocolate made you happier and he wouldn’t be argued by no-one, not even a doctor if it came to it. Honey wheat crackers? He had planned to use them for a different recipe, but let’s be honest, he would never get to it because his memory was a fickle creature; he had actually forgotten he even still had them until just now when he the whole ' guy at the firepit who had mentioned a delicious sweet treat' idea had come to him.
All the ingredients he needed were easy enough to procure. Cabinet, hidey-hole behind his glass decanter (he cherished that thing so much even if he had never used it- he was more of a ‘straight from the bottle’ kind of man), and drawer where his silverware was stored. Why had he put the crackers next to the forks and spoons? He would have to ask his raging drunk persona that question, if he would ever be raging drunk again.
Once he had collected everything and placed them in front of him, the young man began to plan a strategy for how to go about this dessert. He was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace in his bedroom. It was lit and glittering with hues of orange and red. He had a fire poker at the ready which he would use to impale the marshmallow and let it roast above the flames. But what order should he follow when he had no concrete recipe? Which step should he do first that made the most sense? Experience had shown him that having extras of material were important, especially when attempting something new, because mistakes were bound to happen. That being said, Kotton made sure he had more than one piece of chocolate, more than one honey wheat cracker and more than a singular puff of marshmallow on hand. He then decided what the next, most easiest step would be. Ever a proactive individual, Kotton wanted his piece of chocolate and honey wheat cracker at the ready so he wasn’t juggling a hot marshmallow and trying to get his other ingredients ready at the same time. He took out two crackers and set them next to each other. Then he placed a piece of chocolate on one of the crackers. This made the most sense to him and seemed like the easiest course of action. All he would have to do was put the marshmallow on the cracker with chocolate and place the other cracker on top, thereby making a delicious sandwich.
He readied the fire poker and stabbed one of the marshmallows with it. He then thrust the iron stick into the fire and waited. He watched as the colour of the pillow cloud changed, but it changed too fast so that only one side of it was cooked! Half charcoal dust, half raw marshmallow, Kotton let it drop onto the logs of blistering wood inside the hearth. It was a good thing he had backup marshmallows!
He tried rotating the fire poker this time so all sides of the marshmallow would have equal time cooking above the flame. It was a small modification to his original plans but one that made a huge difference. However, this time, whilst all sides of the pillow cloud were equally cooked, it was altogether cooked too long. In fact, it was on fire and stark black when Kotton chose to withdraw it from the flame.
He hurried to blow it out and in doing so, forgot to take note as to where he had positioned it in relation to his body. The marshmallow fell from the fire poker and landed in a steaming, hot mess right on Kotton’s ankle. He grit his teeth and seethed. He bit his lip to keep from shouting out in pain. He quickly reached for a dirty shirt from his laundry pile and wiped away the molten sugar. He needed to be more careful- more careful and more astute to how quickly the marshmallow roasted.
The third time was always the charmed one, so he optimistically pierced the next pillow cloud and resumed original procedure. As soon as the white had turned to brown, Kotton quickly removed it from the fire. Fortunately this time it was not on fire. He gave the piece of fluff no time to fall onto his legs before smushing it against the honey wheat cracker, chocolate in stride. He used the other cracker to remove the marshmallow from the fire poker and quickly disposed of the tool, hot part pointed away from the rest of his body.
He had done it! He had made a tasty, melty, gooing treat from memory. He had managed to present it well enough too. It was messy and dripping with chocolate but that seemed to be more of a positive than a negative. Simply looking at the sweet, sugary brown sauce made his mouth water.
He took one bite and was immediately met with flavour ecstasy. His eyes closed and his body rocked from side to side with happiness. He couldn’t stop licking his lips and the corners of his mouth even after there was nothing left to lick. With his mouth still full, he tried to say ‘so good’ and ‘I want more’, but the words came out intermixed, so it sounded more like, ‘s’more’.
Now, he didn’t know what exactly this treat was called, but he figured what he had just stated sounded like a fun enough name to give it. Marshmallows, chocolate and honey wheat crackers- all the components necessary to make a tasty, irresistible s’more. Of course, he immediately jotted this epiphany down in his journal, smudging the paper with sticky fingers and crumbs. He would clean it up later. The mess he made would only add to the overall experience anyway.
He was so happy with how things turned out that he was already eager to make more. He also needed to share this recipe with others! It was so unfortunate that the guy of the party had his voice drowned out by talk of bosoms and cleavage, because this was an absolute masterpiece. It tasted better than vanilla ice cream, better than the birthday cake he had made for his friend Worick, and dare he say, even better than his father’s seasonal pumpkin pie. He even had to look around, fearful his father would have been able to hear him say such a slanderous comment.
His stomach rumbled. He had almost forgotten he wanted to make another. His mind had lingered to thoughts of how others would react to eating such a work of art, unsupervised. This time it was much easier to prepare a 's'more'. He was already starting to acquire muscle memory by putting his honey wheat crackers and chocolate out in front of him. He subsequently stabbed the piece of fluff and moved to roast it to a nice caramel brown colour. Unfortunately, he had run out of honey wheat crackers, but rather than spoil the entire process, e took a bite and chewed slowly, savouring the experience. Much to his dismay, it wasn’t just the lack of ingredients that turned his night sour. It was the way he swallowed. The corner of the cracker he had swallowed scraped the inside of his throat as it went down.
He coughed and his eyes started to water. He had no water nearby, so he instinctively grabbed another marshmallow and took a generous bite out of it. The marshmallow, being soft and comprised of gelatinous substances, soothed his sore throat as it passed through his esophagus. He was surprised by the result. There was no more pain! He doubted even water could do that.
This was an important detail for him to write in his journal and he wasted no time at all before quickly grabbing an appropriate writing utensil and inscribing the incident. ‘Marshmallows are a good remedy for sore throats’, he wrote in his loopy scrawl. He had even more reason to share this recipe with Worick as this. Perhaps the clinic could prescribe marshmallows for patients with sore throats, if they weren't already.
He wished he had a faster way to reach his friend other than by writing a letter or walking personally to his place of residence. But since he didn’t, he would have to wait until the next work day to explain his findings. For now, there were still marshmallows and a few pieces of chocolate left and it wouldn’t hurt if they simply vanished inside his own belly!
After he had left the bar and returned home, he couldn’t help but spend the rest of the night asking himself questions and furthering his curiosity in the ways of mixology. How were mules made? Did cocktails always contain the same doses of alcohol? What was a heavy handed pour and why did that matter? What was the importance of the green filigree or decorative citrus fruit wedges? No one really used the slice of lemon to make their drink more sour, did they?
Even with the knowledge he had accumulated, Kotton was left with more questions than conclusions. The conclusions he was able to make were diligently notated in his trusty journal. In fact, he had felt so confident in his notes that he decided he had spent far than enough time thinking about how to make drinks. He was curious about how to make something else now.
Many, many seasons ago he had attended a party with Worick and his friends. It was just a group of guys drinking beer, talking shop, and making lewd comments about women. But it was an experience Kotton had never experienced before. Everyone had positioned themselves around a firepit in one of their backyards. One of the guys had started to describe a delicious dessert involving marshmallows, chocolate, and honey wheat crackers, but his recount of the recipe by leaps and bounds dissolved into the many other voices trying desperately to talk over one another. Still, Kotton could remember enough details from what he had said to feel assured in his ability to recreate it. And based on how tasty it sounded, he really wanted to make it.
He had the materials after all. Marshmallows? He couldn’t even begin to remember when or where he had gotten them, but there they were, just sitting in a bag in one of his kitchen cupboards collecting dust. The bag, not the marshmallows, thankfully. Chocolate? He always had a small stash of chocolate. And it was kept in a secret place only he could find. His grandfather had told him once that eating chocolate made you happier and he wouldn’t be argued by no-one, not even a doctor if it came to it. Honey wheat crackers? He had planned to use them for a different recipe, but let’s be honest, he would never get to it because his memory was a fickle creature; he had actually forgotten he even still had them until just now when he the whole ' guy at the firepit who had mentioned a delicious sweet treat' idea had come to him.
All the ingredients he needed were easy enough to procure. Cabinet, hidey-hole behind his glass decanter (he cherished that thing so much even if he had never used it- he was more of a ‘straight from the bottle’ kind of man), and drawer where his silverware was stored. Why had he put the crackers next to the forks and spoons? He would have to ask his raging drunk persona that question, if he would ever be raging drunk again.
Once he had collected everything and placed them in front of him, the young man began to plan a strategy for how to go about this dessert. He was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace in his bedroom. It was lit and glittering with hues of orange and red. He had a fire poker at the ready which he would use to impale the marshmallow and let it roast above the flames. But what order should he follow when he had no concrete recipe? Which step should he do first that made the most sense? Experience had shown him that having extras of material were important, especially when attempting something new, because mistakes were bound to happen. That being said, Kotton made sure he had more than one piece of chocolate, more than one honey wheat cracker and more than a singular puff of marshmallow on hand. He then decided what the next, most easiest step would be. Ever a proactive individual, Kotton wanted his piece of chocolate and honey wheat cracker at the ready so he wasn’t juggling a hot marshmallow and trying to get his other ingredients ready at the same time. He took out two crackers and set them next to each other. Then he placed a piece of chocolate on one of the crackers. This made the most sense to him and seemed like the easiest course of action. All he would have to do was put the marshmallow on the cracker with chocolate and place the other cracker on top, thereby making a delicious sandwich.
He readied the fire poker and stabbed one of the marshmallows with it. He then thrust the iron stick into the fire and waited. He watched as the colour of the pillow cloud changed, but it changed too fast so that only one side of it was cooked! Half charcoal dust, half raw marshmallow, Kotton let it drop onto the logs of blistering wood inside the hearth. It was a good thing he had backup marshmallows!
He tried rotating the fire poker this time so all sides of the marshmallow would have equal time cooking above the flame. It was a small modification to his original plans but one that made a huge difference. However, this time, whilst all sides of the pillow cloud were equally cooked, it was altogether cooked too long. In fact, it was on fire and stark black when Kotton chose to withdraw it from the flame.
He hurried to blow it out and in doing so, forgot to take note as to where he had positioned it in relation to his body. The marshmallow fell from the fire poker and landed in a steaming, hot mess right on Kotton’s ankle. He grit his teeth and seethed. He bit his lip to keep from shouting out in pain. He quickly reached for a dirty shirt from his laundry pile and wiped away the molten sugar. He needed to be more careful- more careful and more astute to how quickly the marshmallow roasted.
The third time was always the charmed one, so he optimistically pierced the next pillow cloud and resumed original procedure. As soon as the white had turned to brown, Kotton quickly removed it from the fire. Fortunately this time it was not on fire. He gave the piece of fluff no time to fall onto his legs before smushing it against the honey wheat cracker, chocolate in stride. He used the other cracker to remove the marshmallow from the fire poker and quickly disposed of the tool, hot part pointed away from the rest of his body.
He had done it! He had made a tasty, melty, gooing treat from memory. He had managed to present it well enough too. It was messy and dripping with chocolate but that seemed to be more of a positive than a negative. Simply looking at the sweet, sugary brown sauce made his mouth water.
He took one bite and was immediately met with flavour ecstasy. His eyes closed and his body rocked from side to side with happiness. He couldn’t stop licking his lips and the corners of his mouth even after there was nothing left to lick. With his mouth still full, he tried to say ‘so good’ and ‘I want more’, but the words came out intermixed, so it sounded more like, ‘s’more’.
Now, he didn’t know what exactly this treat was called, but he figured what he had just stated sounded like a fun enough name to give it. Marshmallows, chocolate and honey wheat crackers- all the components necessary to make a tasty, irresistible s’more. Of course, he immediately jotted this epiphany down in his journal, smudging the paper with sticky fingers and crumbs. He would clean it up later. The mess he made would only add to the overall experience anyway.
He was so happy with how things turned out that he was already eager to make more. He also needed to share this recipe with others! It was so unfortunate that the guy of the party had his voice drowned out by talk of bosoms and cleavage, because this was an absolute masterpiece. It tasted better than vanilla ice cream, better than the birthday cake he had made for his friend Worick, and dare he say, even better than his father’s seasonal pumpkin pie. He even had to look around, fearful his father would have been able to hear him say such a slanderous comment.
His stomach rumbled. He had almost forgotten he wanted to make another. His mind had lingered to thoughts of how others would react to eating such a work of art, unsupervised. This time it was much easier to prepare a 's'more'. He was already starting to acquire muscle memory by putting his honey wheat crackers and chocolate out in front of him. He subsequently stabbed the piece of fluff and moved to roast it to a nice caramel brown colour. Unfortunately, he had run out of honey wheat crackers, but rather than spoil the entire process, e took a bite and chewed slowly, savouring the experience. Much to his dismay, it wasn’t just the lack of ingredients that turned his night sour. It was the way he swallowed. The corner of the cracker he had swallowed scraped the inside of his throat as it went down.
He coughed and his eyes started to water. He had no water nearby, so he instinctively grabbed another marshmallow and took a generous bite out of it. The marshmallow, being soft and comprised of gelatinous substances, soothed his sore throat as it passed through his esophagus. He was surprised by the result. There was no more pain! He doubted even water could do that.
This was an important detail for him to write in his journal and he wasted no time at all before quickly grabbing an appropriate writing utensil and inscribing the incident. ‘Marshmallows are a good remedy for sore throats’, he wrote in his loopy scrawl. He had even more reason to share this recipe with Worick as this. Perhaps the clinic could prescribe marshmallows for patients with sore throats, if they weren't already.
He wished he had a faster way to reach his friend other than by writing a letter or walking personally to his place of residence. But since he didn’t, he would have to wait until the next work day to explain his findings. For now, there were still marshmallows and a few pieces of chocolate left and it wouldn’t hurt if they simply vanished inside his own belly!