Frank Oz, who may be rivaled as a cartoon/puppet voice only by the great Mel Blanc, helped create the Cookie Monster on Sesame Street. Anyone alive today has undoubtedly heard the cookie song: “C is for cookie.. That’s good enough for me …” and so on. It’s the ultimate ear worm.
I used to know a girl, Cookie Michaelson, in college. Anywhere I saw her, regardless of where she was, I’d give her a Cookie Monster yell. “Coookkkkieeeee.”
She didn’t like it. Or me.
Her loss. I bring all this up because today is National Cookie Day in the United States, and — to channel my inner Bo Jackson — “I know cookies.”
Chocolate chip. Oreo. Marshmallow. Hydrox. Vanilla Wafers. Chocolate frosted. Keebler (especially the ones with fudge toppings). Every one of them is delicious. And every one of them is sinful.
I don’t want this to sound like a recovery group address, but my history with cookies is long and sometimes painful. Bring a package of Oreo cookies in the house and they’ll be gone in an hour. The whole package. All three rows. Ditto just about any other kind of cookie.
When I was a child, I enjoyed the standard “milk and cookie” bill of fare. As I got older, I deep-sixed the milk, and just had cookies. Because I didn’t have to bother with the milk, I ate twice as many cookies.
I like every kind of cookie imaginable. I love Christmas anyway, but the idea of a plateful of Christmas cookies, donated to the office by a grateful advertiser or story subject, is an open invitation for gluttony. I may say I’m going to be an adult and only have a proper number of them, but I end up going back into the kitchen multiple times to sneak one more. (One? Who am I kidding?)
As the number of good cookies dwindles, I take ones I don’t like as much. I am not picky.
Put me in a mall where there’s a stand that sells freshly-baked cookies, and I’m there. Even though I prefer them crispy, I’ll take them however I can get them.
Then we have Chips Ahoy. I’d like to alternately kill and bestow the Presidential Medal of Freedom on whoever it was at Nabisco who came up with these. They are my downfall. If they’re in the house, I’m in the bag. And I’m stuffing myself with them until I cannot move.
But the pièce de résistance is the Girl Scout cookie — specifically Thin Mints.
God bless the Girl Scouts. There’s no such thing as an unappetizing Girl Scout cookie. They were made with love, and treated in much the same manner by me.
Thin Mints are by far the best. They are so small, individually, that you need to have about six of them just to feel as if you’ve eaten something. But they’re like crack cocaine. Once you’ve tasted a Thin Mint, you can’t stop.
Our family was very fortunate. From the time I was the smallest child to just about two years ago, we always knew someone who either was a Girl Scout or who had daughters who were. Every year, we’d get the phone call, and every year, I’d order a ton of them. And I’d vow I’d treat these the way a normal adult would, and eat them sparingly enough that we’d still have them to go with our evening coffee.
And every year, the 10 boxes of Thin Mints would be gone in two days. And every year my wife would glare at me with a look that could eviscerate me if it was possible.
And I’d be stomping around in a panic. “Where can I get more?” You can’t just go to Market Basket and buy 10 more boxes. I swear, I’ve had to detox from Thin Mints more than once.
It’s December, of course, and those plates of cookies will be coming soon, though with COVID-19 in the air they may not be as plentiful. But just in case, I love those Italian cookies, followed by those oval-shaped ones filled with fudge. I’m not hinting. I’m just relaying information.
So for all you people like me, Happy National Cookie Day. Eat up. Nobody’s keeping score today. Just tell your FitBits, glucometers and MyFitnessPal apps to take the day off.
I’ll have your back.
