Oreo turned 100 today. 100! That’s incr[edible] for a packaged cookie. Dipped in milk or twisted apart, just give me a few Oreos — the originals — and I’m happy. Forget the double-stuffed, the mint, the chocolate-chocolate. Why the bakers thought they needed to market to a different cookie audience is a concept I can’t comprehend. Don’t fix what’s not broken.
The Oreo is the quintessential [cookie] symbol of childhood. I remember my ritual of twisting each chocolate cookie apart, licking off the creamy center and then savoring each bite of chocolate cookie, slightly dipped in milk. After the cookies were gone there’d be crumbs in the milk glass to swallow.
My husband still follows his childhood ritual. He holds a dip for what seems like minutes. I don’t know how he has the self-control to wait. I’m a quick dipper, like my toe on an early trip to the beach when the water is still ice-cold. My toe barely touches the water. Like my toe, my cookie skims the milk. I like more of a crunch. He likes his cookies to absorb more milk and they become more cake-like.
In honor of Oreo’s 100th birthday, I made Oreo cookie truffles (to satisfy the crunch AND cake-like texture for both of us), Oreo martinis for the adults, and, of course, a few original Oreos with an ice cold glass of milk for the kid inside all of us.