Shivering, huddling in the tent as the nylon fabric buffets aggressively in the wind. Nibbling on a slice of cold, plastic-tasting faux cheese. Waiting for the icy rain to subside. Not exactly how I envisaged passing my birthday.
There’s nothing like a freshly roasted campfire marshmallow. But does it taste any better if it has been cooked in the heat radiating from the depths of the liquid interior of the earth itself? This seems like a question that needs to be investigated further.