Food

Marshmallows and Me: Revisiting My Grandma’s Recipes

On lemon pie with marshmallow meringue

Maybe my family has a thing for marshmallows. Maybe all families do? Who doesn’t like a soft, sweet marshmallow? You can even get vegan ones if you don’t want the gelatin in the typical varieties.

When my nephew drew the marshmallow shown above, I took a photo of his drawing, and it’s been the wallpaper image on my phone for months now. Sometimes I might feel I’m having a bad day, but at least I’m not a marshmallow on fire.

I always thought it was pretty unique that Grandma Dagmar made her lemon meringue pie with marshmallow creme as part of the meringue, but when I looked up “marshmallow meringue,” I found quite a few recipes. Only google your memories if you want to know that many other people have similar stories.

Still, my grandma’s meringue recipe is one of those details I love to share in conversation. Could it be that I like to point to evidence in the historical record that explains my love of sweets? How do you not love sweets if you grew up eating marshmallow creme in your lemon meringue pie?

My brother has always preferred savory over sweet. I could never understand how, back when he was a sportswriter for a local paper, he’d stop off for a burger after a late-game and not want a milkshake.

He is, however, a fan of marshmallows. He and my sister-in-law have a fire pit in their backyard, and they really up the s’mores game with options like peanut butter cups and crisp waffle cookies. But the marshmallow always keeps its place in the center of everything.

Grandma Dagmar’s lemon pie was my favorite pie of hers, and she made quite a few different pies. The meringue had a pleasing, fluffy texture, and the lemon wasn’t too tart or too sweet. It was definitely sweet, but not too sweet for me.

I’ve only made her lemon pie once, and luckily I had the wisdom to try it during her lifetime because as it turns out, I needed to make an emergency call to her when my meringue wouldn’t set. I had her recipe. I was following the instructions. But I had this white mess that was more like soft, dispersed fog than a distinct cumulus shape.

She asked if I’d added the marshmallow creme gradually. I said I hadn’t and that I didn’t see anything about that in the instructions. With a not unkind but very matter-of-fact tone in her voice, she said, “Well, you have to add it gradually or the meringue won’t set.” I think it was such a given for her that she hadn’t bothered to write it down for me.

I thanked her and went on my way to the store to buy a new jar of Kraft Marshmallow Creme, and I’m proud to say that I felt that taking two of the meringue turned out perfectly. I took Grandma Dagmar a piece of the pie, and she agreed.

My grandma always supported my attempts at cooking and baking and complimented the final product no matter what, but I think she was being honest about the pie because how do you go wrong with a delicious cloud of marshmallows on top of lemon filling? I even made my pie crust from scratch, which Grandma Dagmar didn’t always do.

I’ve had my grandma’s cookbooks and handwritten recipes for a few years now since she passed away. My dad loved her cooking and would probably be pleasantly surprised if I made Norwegian meatballs for his birthday like she used to do. I wonder how much of her cooking was recipe-based.

Maybe this will be the year that I go through her — annotated! — cookbooks and recipes and revisit some of the treats we grew up eating. I never could get her applesauce cookies right, and she thought it was because I didn’t make my own applesauce from scratch. I hope she wrote a detailed applesauce recipe down somewhere, too.

P.S. My girlfriend gave me an electric s’mores maker for my birthday this year. How well does she know me?