The first time I encountered s'mores was as a Girl Scout. I wasn't a very good Girl Scout: I didn't like to rough it in tents (I like soft beds and clean flush toilets), I wasn't good at tying knots and the food we ate on our camping trips didn't appeal. The only things I remember enjoying were attempts at having seances in our cabins, playing poker (for money; we got into trouble for that) and sitting around campfires singing … and making s'mores.

There was something hugely appealing about sweet little sandwiches made of a toasted marshmallow and a piece of chocolate between two graham crackers - the hot marshmallow made the chocolate melt slightly, so it was a gooey, oozing mess.

I wasn't like the other girls, who gently toasted their marshmallows, turning them patiently so they browned evenly; no, I stuck mine as close to the fire as possible so they caught fire, completely blackening the exterior. Not only did they taste better this way (burning caramelised the marshmallow, making it seem less sweet), it also meant I could make s'mores much faster than anyone else, and could eat more of them.