There was a time when cookies and cream (warmed milk) was
not a dessert (or an ice cream flavor [extrapolation cookie
dough]), but a bedtime snack: two cookies (chocolate chip,
please) and glass (6-10 oz) of plain milk (slightly heated).
This combination was a source of comfort before entering
the mysterious depths of La-la Land. Also known as milk
and cookies, a story (mercurially about La-la Land) usually
accompanied the treat. The story concluded once the affectionate
confection was completely consumed, or the recipient of
the delectable fell asleep.
This past evening, I had cookies and coffee. My niece made
some of her (for now and ever famous, expecting to receive
another batch next holiday season) chocolate chip cookies.
As seen here, these cookies seem quite typical, unassuming.
From this aerial view, one expects that the unseen underside
of the cookie has a slight char of carbon. One might conclude,
I, by obligation, will eat a few of these with a wash-down
swig (of coffee) so that I will not feel guilty the next
time there is another family gathering or digital communication.
The problem is that I feel guilty for eating the entire
bag in one sitting before going to bed. Not counting, there
were about eight cookies; two, unfortunately, were not available
for the picture. While I did take notes before falling asleep,
I woke-up with the desire to tell this bedtime story.
Upon inspection, there was no underbelly char. Instead
an unseemly smooth surface as if placed on parchment paper
prior to baking. While worth investigating, my interest
Crispy. Crumbly. Crunchy. Chewy. Creamy? Then I took a
sip of coffee. Immediately, I wished that I had not. Fortunately,
there were more cookies for me to digest, so my mistake
would not be repeated--except to prevent me from engorging.
Besides the drink, I was able to pace myself because there
was a secret in these textured chocolate chip cookies that
preoccupied my attention. This ingredient was the confectionate
Not terribly sweet, a durable cookie--approximately three
and a half inches in diameter--did not break into tiny pieces
until flat-dropped from a height above four feet. Fortunately,
I was given two bags of cookies--and I am not afraid of
eating (dry food) off my kitchen floor.
An eerie delight that is to be enjoyed as dreamy longing
lasts, and never re-gifted.