Once upon a time long, long ago, long before words like gluten, trans fats, cholesterol and diabetes were part of our everyday conversation there were Oreos. And they were perfect! Two richly textured chocolate wafers sharing a smooth creamy filling between them, inviting you to do with them what you would. If you were a frosting freak (and you know who you are…) you’d twist them apart and devour the frosting first, insuring a separate flavor experience every time. If you were a purist, you’d insist on crunching both wafer and filling together, encouraging the flavors to mix and mingle. And if you were like me, a dunker, you’d need that big glass of milk to bath and soften them, thereby altering the taste and consistency to some elevated place.

Once upon a time long, long ago, long before words like gluten, trans fats, cholesterol and diabetes were part of our everyday conversation there were Oreos.

There were lots of times to eat Oreos back then. If you were lucky, they’d show up in your lunch box or on the kitchen table as an after school snack. If you were stuck babysitting a few Oreos would always help, same with doing homework and studying for finals, or when you got home from baseball practice, or piano lessons, or roller skating. Later, after all those killer concerts at the Fillmore, Oreos satisfied even the worst munchies. In my world, they were simply a staple for hikes, for the beach, for picnics and road trips and cram sessions.

But it was after I was all grown up that I had my most profound Oreo experience. It was on my honeymoon, on the island of Bora Bora. My husband and I had rented a houseboat that was moored in the lagoon and we had gone to the mainland to buy supplies. There was only one store on the island and there was only one bag of Oreos on the shelf. I immediately grabbed it (somewhat disappointed because it was only the small sized bag) and snuck it into my grocery bag. You see, I had never confessed my Oreo addiction. But it got even worse. I did the math. We were going to be on that houseboat for 10 days, there were 2 of us and there were only 36 Oreos. That meant less than 2 a day each! So I did the only logical thing I could – I hid them from him! But by the next day the guilt was too much – I knew that wasn’t the way to start a new marriage. So I shared my secret and my bounty and we toasted our future over cookies and milk.