It was a dark and stormy summer night. The rain beat against the windows and a vulgar blaze of lightening tore open the night sky. Full of green chile enchiladas and cocktails, Mom, Handsome Greg, Professor Meowington, and I gathered in a circle on the living room floor, passing the flashlight and sharing ghost stories (like that one about the young couple whose car breaks down during a storm when there’s a serial killer on the loose.)
Another chorus of baritone thunder sang through the quiet, and I returned to the kitchen for my 2nd (OK, 4th) vodka lemonade. A blood-curdling scream escaped my throat as my eyes fixed on a most horrifying sight: my toasted marshmallow ice cream balls, carefully coated in two layers of graham cracker crumbs had been left on top of the refrigerator to melt in the summer heat. Nnnnooooooooooo!
The flaccid, lifeless ice cream balls squished under my finger. I threw them back in the freezer, and wondered, who could’ve done such a thing? Who’d been in my kitchen? Oh, my god! The ice cream killer was inside the house.
As it turns out, Handsome Greg left our dessert on top of the fridge when he got out the ice for the last round of drinks. Actually, he was a dead giveaway; Handsome Greg is the only one of us tall enough to reach something above the refrigerator. And the ice cream balls were saved in the nick of time. They hardened up in the freezer as the oil was heating and the chocolate was softening and the thunder was thundering.
Handsome Greg was forgiven, and we all enjoyed a ridiculous and delicious dessert.
In light of my happy ending, I suggest you host a slumber party, tell ghost stores, and fry up some ice cream of your own. You’ll break through the crispy graham cracker coating and toasted marshmallow ice cream will ooze out. Then drag it through the smoky chocolate sauce, and you will have constructed a perfect homage to s’mores in a single, hot-and-cold, campfire-smoky, crunchy-creamy bite.
And all without anyone getting killed and left hanging from a tree branch making thumping noises on the roof of your ‘87 Acura.
Continue reading for the S’mores Fried Ice Cream with Chipotle Chocolate Sauce recipe