Roast Not Burn
This week I was going to write about something that I keep seeing that’s driving me nuts. But then I remembered something I read recently in Cal Newport’s Slow Productivity:
As Michael Pollan summarizes in an insightful 2003 article about Slow Food, by the 1980s Carlo Petrini had become “dismayed by the hangdog dourness of his comrades on the left.” There’s a personal satisfaction in grimly pointing out the flaws in a system, but sustainable change, Petrini came to believe, requires providing people with an enjoyable and life-affirming alternative. Petrini didn’t simply write a sharply worded op-ed about the corruptive forces of McDonald’s, he instead promoted an appealing new relationship with food that would make fast food seem self-evidently vulgar. “Those who suffer for others do more damage to humanity than those who enjoy themselves,” Petrini explained.
So, in the interests of both effective change strategy and our general well-being, I’ll hold off on making everyone miserable and instead provide you with a recipe for making your haven a little stronger.
This is an infinitely adaptable recipe, of course. No fire pit? Do fondue like our ancestors did in the 70’s. Don’t have a yard? A living room or a kitchen will do. The point is to keep it cheap, simple, casual, and relatively unstructured.
How to Throw a S’More Night
The Morning Of:
Fly the appropriate signal flag to announce that tonight is S’more night. Text a few neighbors and friends. Tell them it’s BYOB and that they don’t need to RSVP— just show up sometime after six. Remind your kid(s) to invite their friends from school.
That Afternoon:
Pick up beverages, snacks, and s’more supplies at the grocery store and bring them home on your bike. Have children help with this errand if they’re on hand. If, for some weird reason, you’re unable to use a bike for this errand and must drive, be sure to drive under 25 MPH (preferably under 20) while you’re on residential streets. This will feel painfully slow if you’re used to driving through not in residential areas while cocooned in your little cockpit. To combat this momentary unease, roll down the windows, wave to neighbors, and notice stuff. Slow ride, take it easy. Content yourself to know that you are making your neighborhood more livable — less noisy, polluted, and dangerous— by driving in this grandmotherly fashion.
One Hour Before S’More Night:
Yell for kids (your own and/or neighborhood kids, it doesn’t matter). Tell them if that S’more Night depends on their successfully making a fire in the fire pit out back. Tell them you will give them the lighter once they’ve hauled enough wood from the wood pile, found sticks for kindling, and set up the fire adequately. Go do something else while the kids accomplish this chore and do not micromanage them, that will only result in everyone annoying each other.
Plug in the string lights in the backyard. Note which bulbs are out and then do nothing about it. Set up some bluetooth speakers. Put the S’more supplies on a table in a way that kids can access them without adult supervision. Put out the cheap snacks early to distract the kids from the good cheese, which only comes out once the kids have dispersed.
Give the children the child-proof lighter and laugh at them without helping as they try to figure out how to make it work. Eventually, they will figure out how to use teamwork to produce fire. If you’re tempted to help the children, remember that our ancestors made fire by rubbing sticks together or waiting around for lightning. Fire should not come easy, brats.
During S’More Night:
Ditch your phone. Sit by the fire and enjoy a drink of your choice as neighbors trickle into the backyard. Play music you like, even if your kids beg for popular schlock. Don’t police the s’mores— let the kids go nuts. This will ensure they consume enough sugar to launch them out of your general orbit, preferably out of the yard and into the street in front of the house, where their loud antics will attract all the other neighborhood kids. That way all of the adults can relax and hang out without being interrupted by kid questions. Eat a s’more or three. Introduce your neighbors to each other. Enjoy the company of whoever showed up. Keep the fire going for the handful of people who want to stay late and ponder life’s mysteries. At the end of the evening, don’t forget to take down the s’more flag, lest the three-year-old across the street sees it the next morning and gets her little hopes up that it’s like S’more Month or something.
This recipe serves 5 to 100. Repeat as often as you like or make it a recurring event if you so choose. If your S’more Nights are working out, consider adding on a Block Party (recipe forthcoming) or potluck breakfast in the street. Done right, building a thriving community requires ample doses of joy and sugar.
Hit up the comments if you have recommendations for similar recipes or tweaks on this one. I’m off on an adventure next week, so use the three minutes you would have used to skim S’Haven to chat with a neighbor.
S'more nights are the best nights!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Love this, Will!