Ohhhhhhh...Myyyyyyy...

(Originally posted 1/18/15 on Walliebloggin' 2)

When forces of nature align, special things happen…mountains form, canyons are uncovered, the northern lights dance, and tidal bores excite (look that last one up…I dare you).  Recently one of these moments happened to me.  A moment that seemed to slow down, where I had the opportunity to get lost in my senses.  Colors became more vivid, smells more pungent, sounds more crisp and rich, and my sense of touch enjoyed previously ignored textures.  I didn’t peel off my clothes to find a super hero insignia emblazoned across my chest, although I’m open to that.  Five sentences into this and I have no chance of fulfilling your expectations of whatever you think is coming.  It has nothing to do with world peace or political strife, breakthroughs in science or any of the Kardashians.  There were two unsuspecting super heroes in this story though, my wife and her son.

Recently, my stepson was home from college for the holidays and in preparation for gift giving and being together with family for his short respite (celebrating one semester down and a break from dorm food), he and his mom traditionally prepare holiday goodies to have available for sharing with neighbors and seasonal snacking.  It is one of these goodies that blew my mind.  There were cookies, chocolate covered peanuts, white chocolate covered pretzels, cinnamon chili brownies, and pumpkin bread.

It was a simple oatmeal chocolate chip cookie that took my culinary breath away, with help from the microwave and a few scoops of vanilla ice cream.  I don’t know what it was that December day, when the parade of sugar laced dough seemed to stream out of the oven on a conveyor belt, but Betty Crocker, the Pillsbury Dough Boy, and the Persians that recognized the power of sugar cane thousands of years ago, all looked at one another and said, “ It is good.”

I’m not really a huge baked treat kind of guy, but brownies and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies are two that make me set up and take notice.  On this particular day, set aside for this tradition of baking and sharing with tidings of great joy, the last hurrah from the oven came from said cookies above.  The oven door opened and the cookie sheet that entered, adorned with dollops of dough, had transformed into browned, flattened conglomerates of goodness, now resting on the cooling rack.  I held back the temptation to be first to grab and go, like a lower tiered wolf in a pack with a fresh kill, to see if the taste would match the aroma radiating from the kitchen.

I waited patiently, then snatched my first warm, oatmeal chocolate chip cookie and took a bite.  It was then that my senses began to align.  Even before the hot oatmeal with embedded chocolate chips began to cool, I knew each subsequent cookie would be paired with a scoop or 3 of French vanilla ice cream.  Wasting no time, I retrieved it from the freezer and this is where time began to slow.  I’m not sure if I knocked anyone down or pushed them aside as I was en route, but as I closed the freezer door I don’t remember hearing any of the conversation that followed for the next few minutes.  I was entering the zone.  As the ice cream dog piled on my next cookie, now in a clear, glass bowl, from the outside you could see it melting and forming a kind of marinade for the final bites of cookie number two.

But it was that first combination bite of cookie and ice cream that became my moment of sensory peace.  I was lost in the warmth of the oats, the sweetness of the chocolate, and the chewiness brought about by the sum of its parts.  The cold balancing the hot, the texture of the oatmeal balancing the smoothness of the ice cream, and the masticated aftermath sliding towards my tummy (where it is now a semi-permanent fixture on my waistline, but I don’t want to ruin the moment).  For those few moments, I had tasted nothing better…EVER!  

But soon thereafter, I remember hearing faint sounds of conversation and laughter fading back into my world and awakening me out of my moment of peace.  As quickly as I melted into this moment, I rejoined my heroes in the kitchen.  It didn’t appear as though they tried to write inappropriate things on my face in marker while I was gone and for that I am grateful.

Obviously these cookies made an impression, so I went looking for answers.  I pulled the package of ingredients from the trash and began looking for clues for its impact on me.  The front of the package was of no help, other than making me want another.  The “Nutritional Facts” on the back revealed nothing special other than the fact that their “serving size” recommendation is way too small.  And that lead me to the ingredients themselves:  Enriched flour bleached (including something mononitrate…mono means one, how bad can one of something be? Nitrate relates to nitrogen and everyone needs a little of that.  A little folic acid…must be good for your follicles) …whatever, Chocolate Chips, Brown Sugar, Rolled Oats, more Sugar, Corn Syrup (at least its not high fructose!), and a few other seemingly harmless participants.  The only suspect was the Partially Hydrogenated Soybean and/or Cottonseed Oil.  Why not completely hydrogenated oils?  Is the manufacturer holding out on us?  Is it cost cutting?  Or is it the secret to its deliciousness.  There is no number associated with its hydrogenatedness.  I wonder if it is addictive.  That would answer a lot of questions as to why I couldn’t stop myself.  I exhausted my leads or maybe I was just exhausted from eating.  Maybe it is better that it remains a mystery…I don’t think we are meant to know everything, even though there is a theory of everything! (Ha!)

The following attempts to recreate that first bite were not successful, and there were many attempts.  So like firsts, my cookie elation could not be duplicated, with good reason, otherwise there would be no firsts.  So I will savor my moment, this event, this juncture in time, and wait for the next.  

P.S.  I'll leave you with this image of Tuck and a plate of cookies.  Tuck's moment of peace.