Can I Have S(ome) More, Please?

A "Frozen S'More," smoked over Apple Wood chips to give it a campfire scent.
A “Frozen S’More,” smoked over Apple Wood chips to give it a campfire scent.

In “Amadeus,” (1984), Antonio Salieri offers Mozart’s wife, Constanze, a platter of sweetmeat called “Nipples of Venus.” From the way in which she bites into one, coquettishly, if greedily, you know that she’d love to devour a plateful because it tastes so heavenly, but she can’t—simply for fear of appearing unladylike and piggish.

And ever since then, I’ve wondered if such a treat existed. I haven’t seen them anywhere. So, I’ve concluded that it was perhaps a Romantic courtly confectionery that’s not to be found anywhere today.

However, I’ve found another that quite compares to it, though it doesn’t have a name half as exciting as the “Nipples of Venus.” The Dominique Ansel Bakery, in Manhattan’s SoHo, has come up with novelties that have people queuing up outside its door at six o’clock in the morning.

We’d gone to taste its newest, hot new creation: the “Magic Soufflé.” But by the time we got there, they’d sold out of them as hot cakes are reputed to do. The girl at the counter, enthusiastically, suggested that we try the “Frozen S’More,” instead.

We ordered one. Just one, regrettably. A lipstick-size cuboid, affixed to a branch, which looked like it could be a wand, crafted by Garrick Ollivander, was handed to me in a yellow paper boat.

How can one describe such goodness? Not in words. A deluxe twist on the popular American camping treat, s’more, it has a core of vanilla custard ice-cream, coated with feuilletine (chocolate wafer flakes), encased in a perfectly rectangular marshmallow, and torched to perfection.


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