Monday, September 9, 2024
Sam Houston
FROM MY FRONT PORCH
Sam Houston is the publisher of the Hood County News. He is also an actor, author, playwright, performer and entertainment producer/promoter.
The other day I stopped by the neighborhood grocery store. My wife, Teresa, does our day-to-day grocery shopping but every now and then, I enjoy going to the store and picking up a few things. I shopped around and selected snacks I wanted to take to the office. Many times, I work through lunch, and I like to keep some yogurt, fruit or some other snack on hand in case I get hungry.
I was ready to check out when I thought it would be good idea to call my wife and see if she needed anything before I headed home. No matter how good a shopper you are, things get forgotten, so I thought maybe my call might save her a trip to the store. Teresa responded she was good, except if I saw Oreo cookies, to pick some up. The shelves were empty of Oreos on her recent trip to the grocery and I learned our four-year-old granddaughter had quite the passion for them.
Upon hearing the word, “Oreo” my mind started to drift back to my youth. Oh, how I loved having a big stack of Oreos sitting in front of me with an ice-cold glass of milk strategically placed in the middle of the plate. I had mastered a technique where I would place the Oreo between my thumb and index finger and dunk the tasty treat beneath the surface of the milk for almost 40 seconds. This would allow the cookie to absorb a significant quantity of milk, thus softening its texture to the point of nearly falling apart. At the end of 40 seconds, I would lean over, toss the cookie in my mouth, and allow it to dissolve. It did not require chewing. One could simply savor the deliciousness and wash down the residue with a taste of cold milk.
Even as an adult there have been times when I would buy Oreos and spend the next couple of nights devouring cookies. I don’t think I had purchased Oreos in the nearly four years of our marriage, but on that day, I loved the thought of it. I cruised the aisles of the store, found a bag of the legendary deliciousness, included a half gallon of milk to my purchase inventory, and checked out. I was very pleased I was getting some cookies my granddaughter would like, but frankly, my tastebuds were more focused on dining self-gratification. It had been a long time since I had eaten an Oreo.
My wife kept the granddaughter the next day, and they had a big time. They played games at the house, did art projects and then later went to the pool. Sometime during this process, Harper managed to get into the bag of Oreos. Mind you, at least in part, I did purchase them for her to enjoy.
That night I came home late from work and was pooped from a long and arduous day. We ate dinner and watched TV, and then my sweet tooth hit. Oh yeah, I had forgotten I had purchased Oreos and some milk the day before. Comfort food for sure! I walked into the kitchen, got a plate and a glass of milk, and reached in the Oreo bag to retrieve four or five cookies. Boy oh boy this was going to be satisfying!
I walked into the living room, sat down, looked down at my plate with keen anticipation, when I noticed something was terribly wrong! The Oreos did not look right. They were somehow thinner. Could this be the result of a change in the manufacturing process? Was it an attempt to alter a legendary product in the hopes of adding a few dollars to the bottom line? How could the company modify a legend like Oreos for the sake of profits? I then looked closer.
There was no icing in any of the cookies I had taken out of the bag. It had been licked off the cookie as precisely as if the work were done by a Swiss watch maker repairing a Rolex. Once the icing had been removed, the two cookie halves were stuck back together and evidently placed back in the cookie bag with a uniformity that no machine could match.
I had been fleeced!
I believe in recycling, but not with my Oreos! Heavens knows my waistline didn’t need them anyway. I had been hornswoggled by a four-year-old and I have a feeling it won’t be the last time she gets the better of me.
Thought for the day: Cleaning your home while your kids are still growing up is a lot like shoveling the sidewalk when it is still snowing.
Until next time.
sam@hcnews.com | 817-573-7066, ext. 260
