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The Sandoval Signpost (Web edition) is pleased
as punch (diet punch that is) to bring you the humor
and insightful human observations of Daniel Will Harris,
author of My
Wife and Times. —Ed]. |
These boxes have vintage cookies
By Daniel Will Harris
I just ate some antique cookies—I know,
true antiques are over 100 years old, so these cookies were
just "vintage." They weren't dated (always dangerous),
but from the clues I think they were between three and thirty
years old.
I don't consider three years very old for food—at least
packaged food (I think we had a pumpkin on our fireplace for
over a year—but that was decorative, as is the Christmas
tree we've had up for over two years).
At the British Museum they have some food that was packed
with mummies three thousand years ago. I remember reading
a card that said the rice and other things could still be
eaten—so I was pretty sure someone had tried while everyone
else's backs were turned.
While my wife's back was turned I extracted the cookies in
question which arrived in a holiday gift basket from a friend.
He didn't know they were vintage because the basket was all
sealed in plastic. But when I unsealed it and saw that some
items had expired in three years ago, I figured we were talking
vintage food here.
Maybe it was what they call "New Old Stock," which
means that it hadn't been used but it was old selling as new.
That's a good thing for things like watches. Not a great thing
for good gift baskets. Or maybe he got the basket himself
some years back and "re-gifted." I don't know the
exact provenance of the present and think it would be impolite
to ask—or to not at least try the vintage cookies.
I knew the cookies were older than many wines. I knew that
some other items in the box were so moldy they looked like
something from a horror movie. But I figured that the ones
that were sealed would be OK—so I zeroed in on some
chocolate covered cookies that looked Belgian but had absolutely
not information about where they came from (I thought that
was illegal, so maybe the basket was made before these laws).
I opened one box and took a bite of a cookie that looked
like it had seen better days. Yes, I know, any sane person
would have looked at the cookie, perhaps smelled it and thought,
"I don't think so," but not me. I didn't want to
be judgmental. I wanted to give the cookie a chance. And besides,
we had no other cookies in the house and I was desperate.
I took a bite and it tasted kind of the way tires smell.
Since I prefer my cookies to taste like baked goods as opposed
to automotive hardware, I threw these away. Normally I put
old food outside for the raccoons and skunks, but I'm not
one to be cruel to animals.
After this trauma I was able to ignore the other boxes of
cookies for weeks. They sat under a chair in the living room.
Biding their time. I'm not sure why they stayed there—I
can only imagine my wife was afraid to touch them.
But soon I heard them calling my name (though the sound was
muffled since it had to come through both a cardboard box
and a layer of shiny silver wrapping).
I pulled out one of the plastic-wrapped trays and shook it.
I am not sure how I thought I could divine freshness (or lack
thereof) from this audible test, but they sounded pretty good.
I tried to unwrap them. The wrapping was of a kind I suspected
could be sent on a mission to Mars. It was thick silvery plastic,
and no matter how hard I tugged I couldn't open it. I learned,
years ago that tugging too hard usually leads to cookies all
over the room, so I found some scissors and opened them. Half
of them were crushed, but at least they smelled like baked
goods.
I took a small bite, lest they taste like Michelin Radials,
and amazingly, they were good. Very good. Aged! There were
round chocolate ones, and square chocolate ones, and the best
ones were the almond cookies that had long since been reduced
to a kind of magic cookie dust.
As I was eating them (a whole half of a box, to be honest),
I did think about Peter Pan. Or Captain Hook, actually, and
the green birthday cake he had made to poison the Lost Boys.
But I hadn't seen any hook marks on the package and I know
my friend wouldn't intentionally poison me, and besides, they
tasted good.
So there, I've admitted it. I'll even admit I'd consider
eating cookies from the Eisenhower administration if they
didn't smell like an Edsel. That's just the kind of person
I am.
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