So I’ve never in my life had a real s’more. I believe it requires you to actually go camping. Apparently roasting marshmallows with the fire from your gas burner isn’t s’more-worthy. So the cat’s out of the bag, I’ve never been camping either. While I find the romance of camping tempting (sleeping under the stars, becoming one with nature, etc.), I fear the reality (bugs, wild animals, did I mention bugs?) would make me absolutely miserable.
After college I moved to New York with my faux bro. He wanted to live in Chelsea (of course, don’t all gay New York men?) so I found us an apartment on 25th street. We lived in a two bedroom railroad apartment that required you to walk through the kitchen to get to the bathroom at the other end. This was a source of hilarity for pretty much every visitor but it was perfectly normal to New Yorkers.
My husband loves biscotti. Every time we see it on a menu the conversation is the same. “Ooh, biscotti!” And I reply by wrinkling my nose. For years, he has refused to accept that I simply do not want such a delicious treat. It’s absolutely impossible in his mind. And to be fair, I can understand his denial.
My grandmother loves fruit with chocolate. You name it, chocolate covered strawberries, chocolate covered cherries, chocolate covered banana, basically if you cover any fruit in chocolate, she’s happy. Every Mother’s day, birthday, and Hanukkah I always go to my local chocolate shop and get her orangettes which I have learned are French for chocolate covered orange peel. And here I thought the famous blog Orangette was a made up word like Bakerella (which I am assuming is a pun on Barbarella). Who knew?
