An Emotional Journey Through Five Cookies
I’m not really a snack type of guy. Generally speaking I eat fairly healthily and regularly. That’s by no means meant to be a healthboast—I drink far, far too much for that for a start—merely an observation of a trend. As with all trends though, there are anomalies. Sometimes a man’s just gotta snack. For me, it happens most often on sleepless days. Those are the days of weakness. Of too much coffee. Of aberrant thinking. Of snacks.
I’m sleepless today. Which is why I’ve just returned from a short walk with this:
I’m not sure how this happened. It wasn’t by design. There’s a crisp breeze blowing outside and a surprisingly flawless January sky making my grimy corner of East London look pretty picturesque. That was all I was meant to go outside and do. Take a walk, take it in, wake up a little bit before getting back to work.
But that’s not how it went down. Because I’m sat here, staring at a pack of accidental cookies in my hand. I must’ve zombie-walked into the big Tesco at some point during the walk. The Tesco that for some reason plays ‘Take On Me’ by A-Ha on loop over Christmastime. And so here I am, a five-bag of ‘freshly baked’ white chocolate chip cookies for company. Shit, I’m pretty sure my zombie self only just wanted one, or two at most. Five is too much. But they don’t sell one, or two. It’s five or nothing at the A-Ha Tesco. So here we are.
I guess I have to eat them now.
The First Cookie
I’ll be honest: This is fucking delicious. Zombie me is a genius. These things might not be ‘fresh’ fresh, but they were definitely made today. Even if they weren’t though, I’d still be loving this. I’m half asleep, with excessive amounts of coffee keeping the basic motor functions going, and this cookie is the absolute tits. This might be the best cookie ever baked. Jesus. Every bite is hitting a spot I didn’t even know needed hitting. I could eat this shit forever. In fact I have to consciously minimise the size of each bite, because otherwise I’d just inhale the whole thing.
Finished! Phew. That was amazing. Was it as good for you as it was for me, cookie?
Cookie The Second
No hesitation right? Pluck that second mother straight out of the bag and let’s keep the party going. Sadly, it’s pretty clear from the first bite of Cookie The Second that the experience has lost its lustre a tad after that life-changing experience with The First Cookie, but then again that’s to be expected. This isn’t our first rodeo. Nothing can be as good as The First Cookie. What’s important is that overall this is still a good thing. The novelty of the taste is still refreshing; the sugar rush oncoming, not yet peaking. Two thirds of the way through though it becomes noticeable: The slow down. Suddenly one of the bites doesn’t taste quite that good anymore. I realise I need to take a big gulp of water.
Ah! That did the trick. The next bite, finishing Cookie The Second, is a glorious return to form.
Cooki3: Tokyo Drift
Rejuvenated. Water helped so much. Onto the third cookie. Honestly, when I woke up this morning I didn’t even envision myself eating one cookie, let alone working through two, now three. But here we are. This one has a lot more white chocolate chunks in it than the previous two. Is that a good thing? Uh-oh. I think maybe not. I think it might’ve been better to front-load the chocolate-heavy cookies? It does seem a bit too sweet. Oof! Fuck! That last bite was almost all chocolate! Maybe I should’ve gone for milk chocolate instead. That has at least some tenuous connection to reality. White chocolate is just a fantasy. A dream of sugar clumped together in a chocolate shape. And now after that bite I can see that the rest of the fucking thing is mostly just white chocolate too! Oh man. Now I remember why I don’t snack. This is too much. WHY CAN’T THEY JUST SELL ONE OF THESE THINGS?!
The sides of my mouth are stinging and it’s getting painful to swallow. The white chocolate is refusing to go down, pooling in my ever-expanding cheeks while the slightly less offensive bits of chocolate-less dough are allowed to pass to the rear of the mouth and down the tube. Water does nothing to help anymore. My body must think my conscious brain has gone haywire. Why else would I be stuffing this much white chocolate in my mouth? It’s trying to protect me from myself. There must be something amiss. Perhaps we are under duress, and we should make it appear as if we are cooperating. Store the white chocolate in the cheeks, the mouth says to itself. Store it. Weaponise it? But no, this is voluntary, and we have to override. Focus on the mechanical, force the white chocolate out of the cheeks, back, back, pulse the tongue, flood the cavity with saliva. Let the eyes glaze over. Aaaaaaand gulp. Down it goes in a a dulcet tide. It’s disgusting. That implacable fucking bolus. I can feel it. I can track its movement down the tube before it disappears into the cavern like Gandalf and the Balrog freefalling down the mineshaft of Moria below the bridge of Khazad-dûm.
C O O K I E
Cookie cookie. Coo, kie Cook. Coooook. Cookiecook. Co-cook. Cook. COOKIE!
Oh, fuck. That was close.
For a while there it felt like I was lost. I started to perceive time like Christopher Nolan. I thought I was done.
But you know what? No!
It’s just pure disgusting now. Why would anyone make this? Why is this on store shelves? There’s one bit in my mouth that needs finishing, and then that last piece there. I might as well be fucking chewing on sweet, soggy cardboard at this point. There are no redeeming elements to this experience. I’ve forgotten why I went down this path. All I feel is sugar and sorrow. Would’ve been better chomping down on a cream-filled Huntsman spider. Was there a reason for all this? Some grand plan? Who the fuck ever needs to eat five cookies?
Until the next time.
Header Image Source: