WHAT’S WRONG WITH KIDS celebrating Valentine’s Day? Despite having an adequately tuned radar when it comes to inclusive and “politically correct” language, I confess that I don’t understand the problem with using the term “Valentine’s Day” in elementary school. Maybe the taboo is particular to my son’s school; if not, then I guess it’s a case of generation gap. Do most schools today avoid valentines? However widespread, I’m left trying to figure out what was wrong with the Valentine’s Day celebrations of my own youth, which were called by the same name and seemed innocent, fun. Does the objection have something to do with religion, since the holiday references a saint? Or is it because adults are now more worried than ever about transmitting ideas of romantic (to say nothing of erotic) love to ones so young? Whatever the reason, the reality is: my son is not supposed to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Instead, he and his classmates have “Friendship Day.”

Friendship is a great concept. I have always resisted the notion that Valentine’s Day be confined to one type of love only: that shared between romantic or sexual partners. Many a February 14th has rolled around to find me unpaired, and yet . . . I’ve always baked cookies, made plans, always shared tokens of love (cards and sweets) with friends and family. It’s never mattered what the day was called. I suppose Valentine’s Day is a loaded holiday—heavy as it can be with emotional baggage—but what in life is not loaded, at least for someone, some way? As far as I’m concerned, we can forget the psychology; forget linguistics. Young, old, friends, lovers: let’s just stick to . . . chocolate. And marshmallows. OK, and sprinkles, too, while we’re at it. Too commercial? I don’t care. It’s a lovely excuse for getting together with my son in the kitchen. Naturally enough, just as Valentine’s Day brings cravings of chocolate and champagne to many adults, Friendship Day at school coincides with that timeless tradition of the Parents’ Association: the bake sale.

This year, my son Q and I decided not to bake but to dip marshmallows in chocolate and roll them in red and white nonpareils. (Well, I also baked. No stopping me.) In the past, we’ve done the chocolate-dipped routine with pretzel rods. I wholly endorse the salty-sweet combination; it mitigates my guilt, though pretzels are hardly health food, so I’m not sure why. But sometimes—bake sale times—there’s really just no point denying that full-on sugar high. In fact, Q will tell you: this is why I tend to be pretty strict about nutrition the vast majority of the time . . . so that I can go all-out for holidays, birthdays, and bake sales.

Q was in a sulky mood when I suggested we get this project underway. I can tell you that this turned him right around. What is it about stabbing squishy white pillows of sugar with a craft stick? It works like a charm on kids. Instead of complaining about who knows what, Q suddenly got industrious and quickly figured out the magic of mise en place. He arranged marshmallows, chocolate, and toppings like a pro, lining everything up in a logical sequence next to the parchment-coated baking tray. And then . . . Stab! Dunk! Roll! Repeat.

Also drip. The only problem with this project was one of impatience (both of us guilty as charged). If you decide to whip up these mallow-pops, my best advice is: wait until the chocolate has cooled sufficiently before dipping the marshmallows. The chocolate should be close to room temperature, in a thickened liquid state, otherwise you will end up with glops dropping into the toppings, weird formations of chocolate (are they stalagmites or stalactites?) on the ends of the marshmallows. Not that it matters. It’s all edible, and the kids really don’t care. Most of them don’t, anyway; Q is a bit too much “like mother, like son” to completely escape the nasty perfectionist habit, I’m sorry to say. But despite the occasional misshapen treat, he forged on happily.

Now, if I’d been more ambitious (next year, maybe?), I would have made my own marshmallows. This week, though, I’ve been more pressed for time than usual, to say the least. If you’re in the same boat, don’t worry. There is no shame in a store-bought marshmallow, so long as it’s fresh. These were wonderful and saved me a lot of work. If you want to get all gourmet-DIY-food-snob, though, as I was tempted to do, feel free to make your own. There’s a recipe for classic vanilla marshmallows from Serendipity Sundaes at Leite’s Culinaria. For something lightly spiced, try chocolate swirl cinnamon marshmallows, an “Editors’ Pick” from Food52.

Personally, I’m just glad these babies are heading out the door tomorrow, far from my line of vision. Although I’m not a huge marshmallow fan (unless they’re melted in Krispie treats or charred on a campfire and smashed between graham crackers with a hunk of dark chocolate) . . . these were too tempting, especially alongside a lethal dose of cocoa on a snowstorm day like we had here in New York.

Chocolate Covered Friendship Marshmallows

Yield: 20-30 dipped marshmallows

Ingredients:

Nonstick cooking oil spray

12 ounces chocolate morsels (I use semisweet for the kids, but bittersweet works well, too)

Assorted edible decorations, such as sprinkles, colored sugars, nonpareils

1 (10-ounce) bag jumbo marshmallows (make sure they’re very fresh)

Wooden craft sticks

Method:

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and cover lightly and evenly with cooking oil spray.

Using a double-boiler (or a bowl placed over, but not in, a saucepan of simmering water) melt the chocolate over low heat until smooth. Pour the chocolate into a small, deep bowl suitable for dipping the marshmallows into and let cool to room temperature. Remember, for best results, the chocolate should be still liquid but thick, so that it will not ooze off the marshmallows.

Place decorations in individual, shallow bowls.

Spear each marshmallow with a craft stick, then dip the marshmallow into the chocolate to cover evenly. Roll the chocolate-covered marshmallow in the decoration(s) of choice, and place on the oiled parchment to set. Continue until all the chocolate is used.

Refrigerate the tray of marshmallows for an hour or more to harden the chocolate completely.

Notes for the Non-Allergic:

You can also use chopped nuts, coconut flakes, crushed graham crackers, candies, or other toppings for the marshmallows. Without allergies in the house, we let our imaginations run wild! Of course, if you’re participating in a school bake sale, you’ll want to stick to the decorations listed in the recipe, out of consideration for those who cannot tolerate nuts or wheat gluten.

‘TWAS THE NIGHT before Christmas, and all through the house . . . Or at least in the kitchen, I was stirring up the scents of simmering cream, bittersweet chocolate, and black tea with bergamot.

It’s been four or five years since I last made these Earl Grey truffles. The recipe (which I will loosely describe but won’t reprint, because I firmly believe everyone who makes desserts should own the book) comes from The Last Course: The Desserts of Gramercy Tavern, by Claudia Fleming with Melissa Clark.

Back then, I made the truffles for a friend who may just love chocolate and black tea equally—which says a lot; she’s been known to make entire, decadent meals of either or both. My only regret in giving them to her was that I later felt like a drug dealer supplying her with vice in a quantity sufficient for overdose, which she admitted to freely (”I ate them in one sitting!”). Any bellyache has long since been forgotten, however, and in recent months she’s mentioned the truffles a few times, rather wistfully I thought. I figured it was time to make them again. I’d also remember to reserve a secret stash for myself.

The bonus for me this year was that I was out of my usual supply of Earl Grey when it was time to heat up the cream. In a last-minute rush through Grand Central Terminal (I was putting my father on a train after a lunch date and hand-off of stocking stuffers), I darted into The Tea & Honey Store to see whether they had any loose-leaf Earl Grey. You should know: this is one recipe for which you may not snip open a tea bag and dump out the contents in lieu of using whole tea leaves. You just don’t want the pulverized dregs that go into the average sachet; not for a confection this good. Turns out the store had one variety in stock, and it was one I’d never seen before. I now believe fate played its hand in the discovery. I see no reason to ever drink another Earl Grey again; I was destined to find this one.

The tea is called “Blue of London” and is sold by the purveyors Le Palais des Thés, a well-known French enterprise that includes online commerce plus tea shops around the world. Le Palais des Thés also adheres to a buying code of ethics, which according to their Web site means that their suppliers comply with the following: “no child or forced labor, respect for the environment and adoption of clean farming methods, no deforestation, decent wages for workers, compliance with health and safety regulations.” Cheers to that.

Blue of London is a blend of Chinese Yunnan tea and bergamot from Calabria, Italy. The tea is as lovely to look at, with its sparks of blue flowers dancing like flames among the curled black leaves, as it is to smell and taste. As far as Earl Grey blends go, it’s the most delicate I’ve had. Actually, I was worried that it would be too delicate for the truffles; that the extra-bittersweet ganache and the unsweetened cocoa coating would overpower the light aroma of the tea. Nothing doing. The subtlety was no problem, and I am yet again convinced: using the finest of everything you can lay your hands on really does pay off.

The truffles, presented to my friend in a holiday candy box, were received with the kind of surprise and awe that make you feel that any amount of trouble in the kitchen would be more than worth it. Happily, these truffles are no trouble to make. It’s true that I didn’t remember having so much difficulty shaping the ganache into balls or keeping the almost-ball shapes intact as I dipped them in melted chocolate and rolled them in cocoa. My finished truffles looked pretty gnarled, some almost spiky—not at all the near-perfect spheres Claudia Fleming turns out—but there’s nothing wrong with free form, either. The most important part is the taste, and that was still divine: intense and creamy beyond the outer chocolate shell, bitter and citrus-bright with that bare hint of bergamot. I say “was” with a twinge of sadness: the last of my reserve disappeared after tonight’s dinner. Who knows when I’ll make them again. The relief is that with them gone, there’s no more risk of overdose. At least not for me—I’ve yet to ask my friend how long hers lasted. I’m guessing a day, tops; hopefully longer than an hour. They really are that good.

Claudia Fleming’s Earl Grey Chocolate Truffles

I suggest you get your hands on a copy of The Last Course and make these exquisite truffles according to the original recipe. I’m citing Claudia Fleming here, since I can’t imagine taking credit for these in any way, but the description that follows is mine and is loose on purpose. If you don’t have access to Fleming’s book, you can certainly adapt any basic chocolate truffle recipe you have, in order to create an Earl Grey variation. Use 1/4 cup tea leaves for every 1-1/4 cups cream. If you can come by the Blue of London blend, use that (you’ll love drinking what you don’t infuse in the truffle cream), otherwise just make sure to use a fine quality loose-leaf tea.

Method:

Simmer heavy cream with tea leaves; infuse for a couple minutes off the heat. Into a bowl, strain the cream over finely chopped extra-bittersweet chocolate. Let rest briefly, then whisk to melt chocolate completely. Cover and chill until set (around 4 hours). Form the set ganache into balls, then refrigerate again for at least 15 minutes to firm them up. Meanwhile, melt two-thirds of a quantity of bittersweet chocolate (enough to coat truffles) over—not in—simmering water; remove from heat and add remaining chocolate, stirring constantly until smooth and room temperature. (If you’re impatient like me, you will have a hard time with the form of the truffles.) Place unsweetened cocoa powder in a bowl. Dip chilled truffles one at a time into melted chocolate, then roll in cocoa.