Marshmallow Men: The Memoir

Have you noticed that Christmas traditions come and go just like everything else? Even something as venerable as Christmas has trends. Our family once enjoyed a decade-long love affair with Marshmallow Men, the spawn of Kraft Mystery Theatre. This was one of our favorite TV programs back when we had a single TV channel. The low-tech advertising on this show was just as engaging as the episodes were. At times it was even better. Kraft furnished all of the advertising during that hour. Each commercial break was leisurely and homey, unlike today’s ads that slingshot you from product to product like a dizzy marble in a flaming pinball machine.

Kraft commercial breaks featured an attractive beehived and aproned homemaker. Without stooping to the soul destroying style of Martha Stewart, this motherly figure demonstrated recipes made with Kraft products. They always included our favorites - Cheez Whiz, or Miracle Whip, or Jell-O, or, best of all, Velveeta Cheese. After all, what would be the point of Kraft lovingly producing all those family fortifying food products if families didn’t know what to do with them? At least once during every episode of Kraft Mystery Theatre my mother would leap out of her chair claiming “Oooooohh!” and run for a notepad and a pencil. That is how we were introduced to the Marshmallow Men.

That particular Kraft commercial detailed how to build your own army of white puffy pseudo snowmen. Two large marshmallows were used for the head and body, and four miniature marshmallows were drafted into play for arms and legs. The whole Man was assembled with toothpicks carefully broken in half so as to not stick out and reveal the secret of their assembly. Additional toothpicks were dipped into food coloring and used to paint on the eyes, noses and grinning mouths. I had a particular fondness for using yellow food coloring to draw in blond curls, revealing my secret desire to be blond and curly. We never made any Marshmallow Women – the recipe simply hadn’t given any instructions for that! The Men remained alone in their sugary celibacy.

Then there was the question of just what to do with the Marshmallow Men. You certainly couldn’t eat them – they were too handsome, and there were those sharp toothpicks to consider. The only option left was to display them. Sometimes the Men took up residence in the Christmas tree, and at other times they graced the coveted top of the TV set, deposing the ceramic Santa. Once, in a bizarre but somehow satisfying exhibit, they were featured in a Nativity scene. After a few days, they were mostly forgotten as they silently morphed into dusty white cement.

TV commercials aren’t nearly as benevolent these days. They don’t generate Christmas traditions. They only want us to buy stuff - mostly stuff we can’t afford, or don’t truly want, or stuff that we will tire of before we get the wrappings out to the trash. There are no elegant instructions on how to craft Marshmallow Men or make a casserole laced with Velveeta Cheese. For that, you would probably have to turn to the internet. And there you would probably just get distracted by instructions on how to build weapons of mass consumption. I don’t recommend it.