The pandemic has ruined a number of centennial celebrations that would have commemorated the industrious year of 1920. While many of them have been enjoyed retroactively, there’s one recognition that I’m still waiting on: the 100-year anniversary of the commercial manufacture of Marshmallow Fluff.
According to the product’s website, Marshmallow Fluff ― or simply “Fluff” if you’re a New Englander ― became a commercially-manufactured product in May of 1920. An article in the Daily Evening Item (Hey, I know that paper!) announced the venture as a partnership between Swampscott natives H. Allen Durkee and Fred L. Mower.
Those two were responsible for taking the sweet, sticky stuff from a recipe to a national sensation, and they are the ones I believe should be celebrated on this special Fluffiversary.
Do you detect a note of defensiveness in my writing? It’s probably because I, and many others over the intervening century, have been duped into believing Fluff to be the product of Somerville. For 16 years, that city has played host to the What the Fluff? Fest (aka “Fluff Festival”), which commemorates the condiment through live music, contests, food, and other bizarre happenings.
In spite of the near-entirety of Fluff’s history occurring in Lynn, Somerville gets the glory merely because its creator lived there. Yes, it’s true: Fluff humbly began when one Mr. Archibald Query began selling it door to door in the area in 1917. According to the historians at marshmallowfluff.com, wartime rationing forced Query to end his operation shortly after it began, but he sold the recipe to Durkee and Mower after the end of the Great War, and the incorporation, factory, large-scale distribution, corporate offices, and product expansion followed soon after ― in Lynn.
When I found out the truth, I didn’t believe it. I’m well aware of the festival, and plenty of word on the street that told me Somerville was Fluff’s home. When I finally found out the truth, I felt duped. I don’t like having my perceptions messed with, especially when I’ve donated a large amount of time to convincing out-of-staters that the delicious glop is worth a try.
Fluff is a personal thing for New Englanders, probably because it reminds us of happy moments in our childhood.
Per the orders of my health-nut mom, we didn’t have Fluff in the pantry when I was growing up, which made it forbidden fruit long before I enjoyed it as a local flavor. However, there was a massive tub of the stuff at my summer camp ― until too many health-nut parents like my own intervened. Oh, but those were the days. When we got tired of making sandwiches with it, we would dip plastic spoons into the multi-gallon jar and fill up our Dixie cups, daring each other to down the whole thing in under a minute. Bad idea in the swampy heat of August, by the way. Lethal stomach aches. Some things are certainly better left in the past.
It’s evident to me that the folks at Marshmallow Fluff are aware that part of their product’s appeal is its close kinship to the past, not just in terms of people’s individual histories, but in our collective history as well.
The condiment has not undergone a “rebranding” since the 1960s, which gives that blue-and-white lettering its unmistakably retro look.
The product line contains only two varieties ― original and strawberry ― a move that betrays the company’s confidence in itself and its commitment to old-school simplicity, though I’ve heard rumors of a raspberry Fluff that was recently discontinued. Sounds pretty good, but whatever; they know best.
Most importantly, the company is still owned and operated by Durkee-Mower, which is to say the descendents of the Durkee and Mower who bought the recipe from Mr. Query of Somerville sometime after WWI. A third-generation Durkee sits as president, and the fourth works for the company as well. While the company has done its share of collaborations with giants like Nestle and Kellogg’s, they have remained independent for these sweet, sweet 100 years.
And finally, the company remains in its true hometown of Lynn, with its offices and factory on Empire Street.
“Iconic” is perhaps the best word to describe it.
It’s so intrinsically local that sometimes we forget its reach, but Marshmallow Fluff is available internationally through third parties like Amazon (the official website will ship to the contiguous 48) and, as of 2012, it has been to space.
And while there are some tried-and-true recipes that use the tasty treat, certain localities have found their own special applications for this beloved goo. None have taken it quite as far as Tony’s Lunch in Girardville, Pa., which boasts on its menu the “Fluff Screamer” burger. … Yeah.
According to Gastro Obscura, the Fluff Screamer consists of “hamburger, raw onions, spicy chili sauce, Fluff (yes, the sticky marshmallow stuff that comes in a jar), optional cheese, and a pat of butter on top.” It was added to the menu after a customer reportedly asked so often for her Screamer burger to include a glob of Fluff that eventually she broke the proprietors’ resolve. So there’s that.
(Durkee-Mower President Jon Durkee said he was initially dubious, but after trying it endorsed it as the “best freakin’ burger I ever had.”)
The less adventurous among us will opt for the classic Fluff recipe that is time-tested and beloved by all: the Fluffernutter sandwich.
More so than fudge, brownies, S’mores, hot chocolate or any other sweet (or apparently savory) Fluff concoction, the Fluff-and-peanut-butter sandwich is what the product seems to be meant for. It’s what I begged for when we were at the grocery store and my mom tragically, heartbreakingly shook her head “no.” It’s what that gigantic, five-pound tub was intended for at my summer camp. It’s what is undoubtedly on offer at the Fluff Festival in Somerville, though I’ve never gone ― and never will! And it’s what people across the country, the world, and in the International Space Station ask for by name.
To credit this lasting phenomenon, Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary added “Fluffernutter” to its newest entries earlier in the week, along with “dad bod,” “air fryer,” “fourth trimester,” and 451 other neologisms. It’s not the Lynn-based centennial blowout I’d hoped for, but I’ll gladly take it with a glass of milk and the crusts cut off.
