Page 86 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
She gapes at the menu. “Are these all—?”
“Yes, indeed,” Sebastien says.
I join Katy and Mom in gawking at the two dozen different s’mores platters available.
The S’moreo: Oreo cookies instead of graham crackers.
Cheesecake: blackberry jam, whipped cream cheese, marshmallow, and milk chocolate.
Mexican hot cocoa: spiced chocolate, dulce de leche, marshmallow, and cinnamon graham crackers.
And on and on.
Who knew it was possible to improve something as perfect as s’mores? And yet, here’s proof, because I want to order and eat every single one of them.
“I think I’m going to move in here,” I say.
Mom nods. “Me, too.”
Sebastien squeezes my knee. “As long as I’m still allowed to visit.”
The waiter comes over. He’s wearing the same Axes and S’more uniform as the hostess, complete with fur hat and a flannel shirt embroidered with his name, Jim, and a happy cartoonmarshmallow wielding an axe. Jim is a burly guy—he looks like he’s been throwing axes since he was a toddler—and the cutesy logo is incongruous on him.
“What’s up, man?” Jim exchanges fist bumps with Sebastien. Of course they know each other. Small town and all. “Long time no see.”
“Hey, Jim. This is my girlfriend, Helene, and her mom, Beth, and sister, Katy. They’re visiting Alaska for the first time.”
“Sebastien brought you to the right place, best s’mores in the whole country. What can I get started for you?”
Mom orders the piña colada s’mores. Katy gets a venison steakandthe peanut butter and bacon Elvis Presley s’mores—Janssen girls like to eat—and Sebastien orders something called the Traditional. I go for the Nutty Chocoholic. The name seems apt for me.
“Excellent,” Jim says. “I suggest a round of axe throwing while you wait. The kitchen’s a little backed up tonight, so it might take half an hour to get your food out.”
“What do you think?” Sebastien asks me. “Are you up for throwing some axes?”
“Sign me up,” Mom says, already climbing out of the booth.
We head over to a walled-in cage with a big wooden target on the wall. A chain-link fence separates us from the next lane, which is occupied by a foursome of scrawny, bespectacled guys. But their scoreboard has an impressive number of tally marks, and every time one of the skinny guys throws, the axe hits bull’s-eye or close. A crowd has gathered and erupts in cheers for each hit.
The cage on the other side of us contains several drunk girls who probably shouldn’t be wielding axes. A couple of them make googly eyes at Sebastien, but Katy steps right up to the chain-link fence and glares at them. The girls beat a hasty retreat to the other side of their cage.
Mom suggests we forgo keeping score and just have fun, which I’m all for. She hefts an axe and throws it, hitting the outer ring.
“Pretty good,” Katy says. “But let me show you how it’s done.”
She hurls her axe and hits the third ring from the outside, one better than Mom’s.
