The Grill and The Marshmallows

I have a long-standing theory that college life is one long string of instances in which a protagonist asks, "Why not?" and doesn't find an answer.

Take, for instance, the couch on our front porch. It arrived unceremoniously heaped atop a housemate's car. I know this because I arrived home to find the couch still on top of the car, and on top of *that* were my housemate and a friend. The car was parked on the side of the road, and my friends were enjoying the weather and watching the world go by. Occasionally, passing motorists would contribute a surprised and delighted horn honk which was received with a smile, a wave, and a toast.

This couch, rescued from a fate of certain landfill, ended up on our front porch, in the process displacing an old, rickety outdoor love seat as the primary porch seating location. During the warmer months, I used any excuse I could to sit on the couch and enjoy being outdoors. Breakfast and dinner were taken there, and when homework inevitably beckoned, I had a long extension cord that would follow me outside so I could work on my laptop. I particularly loved to be out in the rain. I would sit and watch thunderstorms through walls of water pouring off the roof, separating me from the elements.

By far, however, the greatest couch events invariably included the other key member of the porch assembly: the grill. We had a small charcoal grill out front and during the spring we made a habit of inviting friends over for a sunset barbecue. The grill was short enough that most charcoal tending could be easily accomplished while sitting on the couch, and it was at moments like these that we honestly thought that life didn't get any better.

The process of grilling with charcoal is a time-critical sequence of events. There is an interval in which the coals are hot enough to grill meat and dense vegetables. After this time period has passed, the coals are still hot and glowing. They're just not hot enough to do anything useful. Also, chances are good that everyone is full. It seems a shame, though, to waste all the heat that the coals are still putting out, which is why marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate are a mandatory part of most grilling sessions at our house.

One particularly enjoyable night -- involving four friends and a very satisfying burger event -- found us in possession of mini marshmallows, but no other s'more ingredients. Not to be deterred, we soldiered on. And then some intrepid soul decided to experiment with liquor soaked 'mallows. As if colloidal sugar structures didn't burn well enough on their own. And thus, the Buttershots marshmallow was born. Imbued with a newfound sense of purpose, we conveyed to the porch an assortment of sweetly flavored liquids -- more liquors, peppermint extract, and the remains of a bottle of wine that had been shared over dinner.

Someone produced a bag of chocolate chips and we immersed ourselves in the newfound science of marshmallow infusion. Systematically experimenting with various flavor combinations, we easily polished off the bag of marshmallows. The coals were still glowing though.