This is just to say

I have eaten the

marshmallows

that were in the cupboard

and which you were probably

saving

for baking

forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so soft

- Adapted from William Carlos Williams's poem about plums.

I wouldn't steal someone's plums. I did, however, on a regular basis, eat the marshmallows my mom had intended for baking. I learned how to do this from my dad, marshmallow-consumer-extraordinaire. I thought a marshmallow couldn't get much better than the first one snuck from a freshly-opened bag, consumed in secret, standing up, leaning against the counter, but I was wrong.

I had my first small-batch marshmallow at the Gingerbread House Inn in Wolfville two Christmases ago. We bought a bag of them at Pete's Frootique, packed them down with us, and ate them, in our robes, with champagne and other vices. It was a good night.

I thought it couldn't get much better than that.

Wrong again.

I made my own last weekend, after months of intention to do precisely that. I can't say I'll never buy another mass-produced package again, but it's going to be a rare occasion. These were easy, fun to make, they offered plenty of bowl-scraping, 'necessary' taste testing along the way, and the phrase "I made marshmallows" is about as foreign and satisfying to say as "I touched a monkey" or "I shook hands with Liberace."

If you're interested in trying, you need only a candy thermometer, one or two weird ingredients (potato starch and gelatin), and this recipe. Note: I added vanilla bean to mine. It was a good idea.

Also, because I am too lazy to transfer anything over from my old, failed, cooking blog, you can check it out here for more recipes and rambling.