There’s an intangible but precise shift just before Labor Day—the air takes on a crystalline quality. Overnight, the hazy humidity of August disappears, as if it was absorbed by the ocean or as if a storm swept in and washed it away, like rinsing water on a glass then wiping it away, leaving it perfectly clear.
I love this time of year. It can carry a tinge of melancholy as summer wanes and slips away from you, but it’s such an achingly beautiful few weeks that you can’t help but be glad. The beaches are empty, showcasing their wild rambling loveliness. Waves tip up onto the rock-strewn sand, spilling white foam over the smooth surface of the boulders. Tangles of greenery cover the gently sloping dunes that hug the scalloped curves of the shore for miles. I learn the names slowly: northern bayberry and beach plum and winged sumac and creeping juniper and coastal sweet pepper bush.
The crowds are gone. The vineyards are quiet—no longer do you see lines of cars slowly making their way down the dirt roads between the rows of grapes, kicking up dust as they drive to the tasting rooms. The brewery parking lot is empty, save for the delivery trucks. The big yachts have left the marina, though plenty of sailboats remain. Last night at sunset I watch two beautiful ones out on the water: a sleek wooden ship with billowing white sails and a smaller navy boat with two huge sails, one black and one bright orange.
Just before the stillness descends, there’s the frenzied energy of Labor Day weekend. Town is loud and boisterous, as if everyone wants to fill the last few hours of summer to the brim, volume turned up and cocktail glasses full and beach hours maximized.
Some friends come to visit, renting a house two doors down, a pleasure that I can’t adequately articulate after all of these months of isolation. I pop out in the morning to chat while they sit on their porch swing. I bring over a slice of banana bread, still warm from the oven. (YES I MADE MORE BANANA BREAD, LAY OFF ME. But sidebar—this is miso banana bread. Intrigued? Weirded out? Would you guys want the recipe?)
On Sunday night, we gather for dinner at another friends’ house a few miles away. Their backyard is leafy and shaded—we sit on cushy deck chairs on the sprawling brick patio, snacking on bowls of Terra vegetables chips and raw sugar snap peas and salty pistachios. We put out a stack of plates, water glasses, and bottles of cold Pellegrino on the outdoor dining table that comfortably seats 8 (or 10 in a pinch; they entertain a lot!).
It’s ideal for these times when we’re all aiming to stay outside and…distanced in some sense of the word, though this small social circle has grown to include a few more lately because human interaction is a balm. A BALM (and a danger, I know I know I get it—the world man, it’s a sticky wicket these days).
I ask what I can bring. Wine? Beer? Tortilla chips? Ice? Limes?
Asking is more of a formality because I always end up making dessert (which I love!)—I’m the baker amongst everyone, and if I don’t bring dessert, someone will end up picking up a fruit pie from the farm stand down the road so it feels useful to contribute something.
The weekend carries a festive and celebratory feel. Everyone seems to have decided that each second should be SUMMER, in all caps. The market stands are crowded with people buying peaches and watermelons and local corn. I ride my bike to the beach on Saturday and there are uniformed bay constables patrolling to contain the crowds of families with coolers and striped umbrellas and plastic pails.
Everyone wants one more ice cream cone, dipped in sprinkles and eaten by the carousel with its twinkly lights aglow; one more deliciously warm late afternoon swim; one more hour spent tipping the sand out of flip-flops and beach bags; one more plate of grilled zucchini and scallops; one more (wait, two more…no, maybe three) icy cold cans of mango-flavored White Claw; one more lazy evening watching the setting sun seep pinks and oranges across the horizon; one more day in unwashed jean shorts.
[Editor’s note: Guys, why didn’t anyone tell me about White Claw until just now?!?!! I am disappointed in you all. My liver, however, thanks you.]
And, according to my friend George, one more taste of s’mores.
“Any requests?” I ask about dessert. Without a moment of hesitation, he says “s’mores pie” emphatically. It takes me a minute to figure out which pie he’s referring to, and finally I remember a dessert I made last summer—clearly memorable enough to stay top of mind for months!
It’s not, in fact, a pie at all. (Calling it a pie is a bit of a misnomer, since a s’mores pie would probably have a graham cracker crust and a chocolate mousse filling and a marshmallow-y meringue topping. That sounds good! I should invent that!)
Previously I baked it in a pie pan (hence the name), but this time I used a deep 3” cake pan—you could use either, or even a square baking dish or casserole dish. You just need a dish that’s deep enough to comfortably hold the layers: first, a gooey dark chocolate brownie layer then graham cracker crumbs then melted chocolate then toasted marshmallows.
I’ve tweaked the recipe a bit to create today’s version. The original (which you can find here) is baked in a pie pan and popped under the broiler briefly to toast the marshmallows; it also has a straightforward brownie base.
I use a cake pan for this one and I’ve added some graham crackers to the brownie batter itself to get more of that graham flavor throughout the recipe—I also add a layer of graham crumbs partway through baking. I don’t toast the tops of the marshmallows, but I just put the entire pan back in the hot oven and let them lightly toast that way.
Both versions are excellent—this one is better if you’re making it right before serving, whereas the pie plate version is easy to make a day or so ahead of time (you can do the brownie part first and add the other layers right before serving).
[I am very sorry that I did not take a photo of the inside of the finished cake! But…it was dark, and being eaten happily…and…there you have it.]
Note: I prefer to use chopped chocolate in the batter as it melts better—leaving some gooey pockets if you don’t chop it evenly—but you can definitely use chocolate chips if that’s what you have, which is what I used in the topping. I also use bittersweet (dark) chocolate in the batter and semisweet on top, but if you only have one kind, just use that for all of it!
S’MORES CAKE
For the brownie layer
2/3 cup (76g) Dutch-processed cocoa
1 cup (198g) granulated sugar
1/2 cup (56g) confectioner's sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup (90g) all-purpose flour
1/4 cup (35) finely crushed graham crackers (about 2 full graham crackers)
1 teaspoon espresso powder (optional)
1 cup chopped bittersweet chocolate
3 eggs
1/2 cup melted butter
3 tablespoons water
For the topping
10 ounces marshmallows (any size; I mix mini and regular)
1 cup chopped semisweet chocolate or semisweet chocolate chips
3/4 cup crushed graham crackers (about 6 full graham crackers), divided
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
In a large bowl, whisk together the cocoa, sugars, salt, flour, graham crackers, and espresso powder.
Add the melted butter and mix. Add the eggs, one at a time, and then the water. Mix well until the batter is smooth and shiny. Stir in the bittersweet chocolate.
Pour the batter into a greased 9" cake pan (you can also use a square pan—just be sure your brownie batter doesn’t fill the pan more than halfway or you won’t have space for the toppings).
Bake for 10 minutes. After 10 minutes, remove from the oven and sprinkle on 1/4 cup of crushed graham crackers for the topping, reserving the remaining 1/2 cup. Press the crumbs down gently to adhere to the surface of the batter, which should still be gooey and not yet set.
Return to the oven and bake for an additional 20 minutes. Do NOT overbake! Gooey is key! (They’ll continue to bake a bit with the topping.)
Remove from the oven but keep the oven on.
Sprinkle the remaining 1/2 cup graham cracker crumbs over the top of the brownie layer. Sprinkle the chopped semisweet chocolate evenly over the graham cracker crumbs. Return to the oven for 5 minutes to allow the chocolate to begin to melt. Remove from the oven (again, keeping the oven on) and top with the marshmallows.
Put the pan back in the oven for about 5 minutes, or until the marshmallows begin to look slightly golden and toasted on the top.
Remove from the oven, let cool slightly, and then serve! I cut pieces directly from the pan but you can also let it fully cool then pop the entire thing out of the pan to serve.