I want my kids to think Passover is fun. What’s more fun than marshmallows and fire?
Plus, I’m adding a dash of the just-released penultimate Harry Potter DVD (solely in order to justify the bad pun on Deathly Hallows).
Passover lasts 8 days, and at this point, keeping things fun is starting to wear as thin as a piece of Tea Matzah.
Passover S’mores are not new, but they work. Apply the toasted marshmallow to a piece of matzah spread with Elyon chocolate chips (or whatever chocolate is still around at this point), top with similar-sized piece of matzah and by the time it’s cool enough to eat the chips will have morphed into a pleasant smooshiness. If there is actual chocolate matzah still at hand, even better. (Streit’s and Manishewitz brands use egg matzah coated on both sides; two considerations crucial to chocolate matzah goodness.)
But why marshmallows in particular? Passover is the only time of year I can find kosher marshmallows in Nashville. Usually, I have to order online or rely on mishpacha in New Jersey. So, a couple of weeks ago I stood at the paper-covered grocery shelves and bought in bulk: enough to supply Passovery conflagrations, summery S’mores and Rice Krispy Treats and autumnal sweet potato casseroles. I couldn’t buy ahead for Hanukkah-time edible dreidels, because kosher marshmallows are not known for their keeping qualities. They are better known for their rapid reversion to slimy fish gelatin. Despite recent improvements by a few manufacturers, kosher marshmallows are still far behind trayfe versions in terms of shelf life, taste and airy heft. If not absolutely fresh, kosher marshmallows are passable only for melting and roasting.
But today, one Pesadiche bag is going down in flames. Or up.
FYI: The kashrut of gelatin—any kind of gelatin—is a hotly debated topic I stay out of. Some authorities say any gelatin is kosher because the original animal-y essence is lost in processing. Some say nay. Some say corn syrup mallows are cool for Passover. Some not. I say what is in my pantry is no one’s business but my own, unless you are coming to my house to eat something in there, in which case I reveal all in a grand, hospitable gesture. But I can still dream of the day when JetPuffed gets a hecksher.