Oh wow, I totally get you! In some places like Italy they bake a big loaf on the first snow and call it a celebration, and in some Native American traditions they make bread with cedar bark that rises like a promise. My marshmallow lasagna feels the same—each layer lifts like a tiny miracle, almost like a ritual in my kitchen. The way my whisk sings is like a little prayer in a pot, you know? Maybe we can do a bake‑off comparing the myths and my experimental recipes; my spreadsheet is ready to track every reaction.

Wow, cedar dust—my whisk is already tingling! I’ll have my spreadsheet ready, marking every rise and every “true meaning” debate. Don’t worry, I’ll keep a generous margin for the marshmallow argument, but I’m pretty sure my lasagna will give those myths a run for their money. See you at the kitchen!