S’more Bars first found me at a stall in Borough Market, London, on a wet Saturday in October. The baker’s hands were dusted in graham crumbs and her sign read “American Sweets, Done Right” in chalk that the rain was slowly killing.
Her name was Mae. She was from Pittsburgh originally, had been baking in London for nine years, and had a stall that smelled like brown sugar and burnt marshmallow. I asked for one bar. She watched me eat it. Then she said, “Come back at five if you actually want to learn this.”
The 5 AM Morning at Mae’s Borough Market Stall
I came back. It was still dark outside at five and the market was empty except for fishmongers unloading crates onto wet pavement. Mae had the lights on low in her tiny prep kitchen behind the stall, a kettle going, BBC Radio 4 turned down so you could only hear the murmur.
She was already mid-crust by the time I sat down on an upturned milk crate. Graham crumbs in a battered steel bowl. Melted butter from a small saucepan that had clearly seen years. She squeezed a handful in her palm to test it. Wet sand. That is what you want, she said.
I watched her press the crust into a square pan with the bottom of a measuring cup, methodical, no rush, no music playing. The kitchen smelled like toasted butter within ten minutes. She used a metal pan, not glass. She said glass cheats you out of the proper bottom crunch.
What S’more Bars Actually Are
Until that morning I had assumed the s’more was an old American confection, the kind of thing that got handed down from settlers or something. It is not. The campfire s’more itself was only codified in 1927, when troop leader Loretta Scott Crew’s recipe appeared in the Girl Scouts cookbook Tramping and Trailing with the Girl Scouts. The name, a contraction of “some more,” caught on widely by the late thirties.
The bar version came much later. An oven-baked adaptation home bakers built so they could have the flavor without a fire, without smoke in their eyes, without waiting for the right night. Mae told me she grew up making them in her grandmother’s kitchen in Pittsburgh, but the format itself only really took off through American baking blogs in the early 2000s.
So the dessert is younger than it tastes. I find that comforting somehow.
Bringing Mae’s Recipe Back to My LA Kitchen
I flew home with the method scribbled on the back of a Borough Market receipt. The first time I made them in my apartment I burned the marshmallow layer to charcoal in about eighteen seconds. The broiler in my building is brutal. I have learned to crouch in front of the oven door now, knees on the floor tiles, watching them through the glass like they might run away.
I get the graham crackers from the Ralphs three blocks over. Nothing fancy. Mae once used a British digestive when she ran out and said it was fine but not the same.
For chocolate I use the classic Hershey’s milk bars, four standard ones, broken to fit any gaps. Dark works. Some purists will tell you milk is the only correct choice because it mirrors the original 1927 recipe, and they have a point. Mae used milk. I use milk.
What I Used
- 9 sheets of graham crackers, crushed to about a cup and a half of crumbs
- 6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
- 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
- A quarter teaspoon of salt
- Half a teaspoon vanilla extract
- 6 ounces milk chocolate bars, about four standard Hershey’s bars
- 3 cups mini marshmallows, enough to cover the top in one tightly packed layer
That is everything. Seven things. I love a recipe with a short list.
The Broiler Step Will Test You
The crust bakes for eight to ten minutes at 350 F until it goes golden at the edges. Then the chocolate goes on while the crust is still hot, gets a quick minute back in the oven, gets smoothed with the back of a spoon into one even layer.
Then the marshmallows. Then the broiler.
This is the part where you do not walk away. Do not pour another coffee. Do not check your phone. Mae told me her first batch in London she lost to a thirty-second bathroom break. The tops go from pale cream to deeply golden to volcanic char in maybe fifteen seconds. I rotate the pan once halfway through. I want some dark spots in there, not a uniform tan. The flavor of a slightly scorched marshmallow is the whole point of the bar.
After the broil they cool on a wire rack for an hour. The chocolate has to set. I have tried to slice at forty minutes and got chocolate everywhere on the cutting board. Wait the full hour.
A Small Note on Marshmallows
Mini marshmallows give you a chewy, firmer top with that crackly broiled surface. That is what I make most weeks. If you want the gooey pull-apart center most American bakers consider the true bar style, you swap the minis for an even layer of marshmallow creme dolloped and spread gently. The two are not interchangeable. The texture is completely different and I have learned the hard way you cannot use them in the same bar.
I prefer the mini version because the broiler char on individual marshmallows is so much better. Mae disagreed. We had this debate over a second coffee at six in the morning while her oven was still hot and the rain came back outside.
These have become my default bbq dessert for a crowd here in LA. They cut into clean squares, travel in a single layer in a sheet pan, and disappear before the burgers are off the grill. Cold leftovers, eaten standing up at the counter the next morning. Better than fresh, if you ask me.
The first batch I made in this apartment was a Tuesday in February, kitchen window open because we were having one of those warm winter weeks, Sandy Denny on the record player, my one good chef’s knife waiting on the counter for the cooling-rack hour to be up. I missed Mae’s stall a little. I still do.
S’More Bars
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Position an oven rack in the center and preheat the oven to 350 F. Line an 8x8 inch baking pan with aluminum foil, leaving a 2 inch overhang on two sides, and lightly grease the foil.
- Crush the graham crackers in a food processor or in a zip-top bag with a rolling pin until you have fine, even crumbs. You should have about 1.5 cups.
- In a medium bowl, stir together the graham cracker crumbs, melted butter, granulated sugar, salt, and vanilla extract until the mixture looks like wet sand and holds together when squeezed.
- Tip the crumb mixture into the prepared pan. Use a flat-bottomed measuring cup to press it down firmly and evenly across the bottom, packing it tightly into the corners.
- Bake the crust for 8 to 10 minutes, until fragrant and lightly golden around the edges. Remove from the oven but leave the oven on.
- While the crust is still hot, lay the milk chocolate bars flat across the surface, breaking pieces to fill any gaps so the chocolate covers the crust completely.
- Return the pan to the oven for 1 minute, just until the chocolate looks glossy and soft. Remove and use the back of a spoon to gently spread the softened chocolate into one smooth layer.
- Scatter the mini marshmallows over the warm chocolate in a single tightly packed layer, covering every bit of chocolate.
- Switch the oven to broil on high. Slide the pan onto the upper rack and broil for 1 to 2 minutes, rotating the pan once, until the marshmallow tops are deeply golden brown with darker char in spots. Do not walk away during this step.
- Transfer the pan to a wire rack and cool at room temperature for at least 1 hour, until the chocolate has set and the marshmallow layer firms up enough to slice.
- Using the foil overhang, lift the entire slab out of the pan and onto a cutting board. With a sharp knife wiped clean between cuts, slice into 16 squares and serve.