
Almost exactly 5 years ago, in celebration us both signing contracts to write cookbooks, I met a friend* for lunch at a burger joint called The Stand on East 12th Street, and we finished the meal with something the menu declared a toasted marshmallow milkshake. I don’t remember a thing about the burger, but I do know that pretty much every conversation I had in the weeks that followed went like this: “The weather is so nice today!” “It would be perfect for a toasted marshmallow milkshake, don’t you think?” “How is your son sleeping these days?” “Did I tell you about this toasted marshmallow milkshake I had? Let me tell you about this toasted marshmallow milkshake I had.” “Can you believe this Deepwater Horizon mess?” “Toasted marshmallow milkshake, toasted marshmallow milkshake toasted marshmallow milkshake.” You could argue it had some impact on me.


I don’t know what happened after that. Maybe I didn’t get much sleep that year? Maybe I was busy writing a book? Maybe I was scared I couldn’t be trusted around a blender full of toasted marshmallow milkshake because things like this happen? All I know is that I failed you, failed to pave the milkshake’s path from 12th Street to your blender and now, as we approach ice cream season once again, it’s time to make things right.

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