Growing up as an ex-pat-brat, you get exposed to things that you wouldn’t ordinarily come across in suburban British life: language, activities, erratic driving, picnics on central reservations and foodstuffs. When we lived in Brussels- in a little suburb called Tervuren, home to the awesome African Museum- we lived next door to a family from Lesotho. The lad struck up an endearing friendship with the boy next door, who was called Pabalo, and practically lived i our house. Further down the road were an American family with young children, one of whom was called Kelly. She introduced me to the elixir that is Marshmallow Fluff. In short, it is a jar of refined sugar and, at least on paper, sounds revolting. But I fell in love with my first taste.
Alas, leaving Brussels spelled the end of my love affair with this heavenly white stuff- it could not be found on the shelves of shops in Cairo. And for years I forgot about it, though it always remained in my heart. Until the day I found it on the shelves in Waitrose. To be quite frank, I think it’s a waste of time actually doing anythimg with it….though the jar does recommend adding it to a Peanut Butter and Jam sandwich (something that will never happen in this lifetime, since I really am not fond of Peanut Butter, unless used by DH in his amazing Thai Peanut Chicken Thing.) There is only one way you should enjoy this sugar high. From the jar, by the spoonful.
I know, I am a sick soul and I need help.
