Is it possible to make too much of a disappointing cookie standing in as a metaphor for the decline of an entire nation?
Honestly, I think it’s impossible to NOT make too much of it.
I mean, it’s a cookie.
But what the heck, it’s Saturday as I write this and I’m drinking.
Besides, my mind kept turning to that thought as I contemplated this sad exercise in confectionery patriotism, a limited edition cookie that came out earlier in the summer to coincide with the Olympics and as good fortune would have it, the celebration of Independence Day in the United States.
The original Oreo was a triumph in cookie engineering and aesthetics. Created by the then-named “National Biscuit Company” (today’s “Nabisco” is a collapsed version of the name) it consisted of two dark-chocolate wafers with a substantial yet not overwhelming layer of cream in-between.
I’m sorry, did I say, “cream.” I meant, “crème.” they are not being cute here, they are being legal. That crème filling is wholly devoid of dairy and has as much in common with a cow as the package it came in, so it would be a violation of the law to call it a “cream” filling.
The cookie was customizable, too. You could take it apart and re-engineer it. Eat the wafers by themselves, or the crème, or put two halves with the crème on them together and make a homemade “Double-Stuf” version. (Presumably, you could even create a Mega-Stuff Oreo, but don’t. That’s disgusting. Quit fooling yourself and just go get a spoon and a can of frosting and be done with it already.)
Oreos heralded the promise of a nation, the bringing together of chocolate and vanilla, each made better by the inclusion of the other, and in so doing, created an enduring classic.
And today, we get abominations like this.
Who asked for these? I mean, other than the finance guys.
Back to our star spangled sugar bombs…
Let’s start with the false promise made by the packaging. Sure, there was a time when you could have faith that the Nabisco Company was not going to disappoint, a time when there was pride in unnecessary weight gain and adult onset diabetes. But now it’s become a charade, a lie.
Take a good look at that picture. In fact, you might want to commit it to memory, because you’re not going to see anything resembling it inside the package. If the packaging were a police sketch, the actual cookie would skate right through airport security unnoticed.
Speaking of which, this is what they really look like.
What is this sad industrial accident of an Oreo? Sloppy artificially colored smears of sugar paste squashed between two wafers. What were they going for here? Disappointment?
The promise made was that of a towering cookie of red-white-and-blue flag-waving national pride.
The promise delivered was this, an exercise in failure. It’s like we were promised John Rambo and got Michael Moore instead. This is the US soccer team kneeling to the national anthem personified in a cookie.
Look, I understand marketing. Heck, a McDonald’s McRib sandwich looks good in the pictures, but have you ever ordered one? They look like the aftermath of a passenger train derailment. The kind requiring grief counselors to come in from out of state.
But this is not just an ordinary Oreo cookie, it’s an all-American Oreo cookie meant to be worthy of celebrating America’s athletic excellence, competitive spirit, and individual achievement in the face of great odds. The only thing this cookie is worthy of celebrating is your five-year-old niece’s T-ball participation trophy. (Yeah, sorry, no one cares.)
Take a bite out of one and it looks like the oil painting palette of a really patriotic Frenchman with a distaste for pastels.
They taste okay with one exception I’ll get to below, but the visual makes me think of an over-frosted birthday cake and I can’t get that out of my mind when I eat them.
I had not noticed this at first, but these cookies also include “popping candy.”
What is the purpose of these?
I assume it was meant to emulate fireworks in some manner, or in any case create a celebratory mood. They’ve been used before in Oreo limited editions for Independence Day.
What it actually emulates is sadness.
I literally thought, having not initially noticed these cookies had popping candy, that the grit I was detecting in the first one I had was sugar that had not completely dissolved.
I assume these are some generic version of Pop Rocks, the candy infused with carbon dioxide so that it “pops” in your mouth as the sugar dissolves and releases the lightly compressed gas.
Unfortunately, the medium of the moist sugar made them not unlike a pack of fireworks left out overnight in the summer humidity, so even when I was later paying attention to them, trying to detect the “popping,” all I got was an unpleasant fizzle and the desire to rinse my mouth out.
These brand extensions are nothing new for the Oreo. Eight years after the creation of the original in 1912, Nabisco came out with a “lemon crème-filled” variety but it was gone four years later. (It has returned in various forms with Golden Oreos.)
In more recent years, there has been a trickle of new varieties. The Double Stuf was introduced in 1974, Oreo minis in 1991, the Golden Oreo in 2004, Mega Stuf in 2013 and Thins in 2015 as things accelerated.
Since then there has been an explosion of Oreo variants (threats to Oreo’s sacred time line in need of pruning perhaps?) usually billed as “limited editions,” like the one that is the subject of this piece.
Root Beer Float, Key Lime Pie, Salted Caramel, Swedish Fish.
Swedish Fish?
I enjoy variety and all, but, you know, if you really feel like Swedish Fish, maybe just go have Swedish Fish.
This is not innovation, this is milking the cow. (Well, not cow, these are Oreos. Milking the laboratory beaker then.) This is training people to be on the lookout for the momentary diversion, the shiny new object that will grab our attention for a few weeks before we move on to the next passing distraction.
These Oreo variants have metastasized to such an extent, that they can command half a grocery store’s cookie aisle. Not half the Nabisco products on display, half of all cookies available.
Just for Oreos and their mutant cousins.
Innovation is being crowded out, replaced by living off the hard work and imagination of those who came before.
Where is “the next Oreo?” Is it poised just over the horizon?
Yes, however it is also an Oreo.
One more thing, one of the prime ingredients used to make the original Oreo’s crème filling was pig lard (replaced with a vegan vegetable oil in 1997).
Yes, there was a time when Oreos were in part, made of bacon.
Is there anything more American than that?
To return to the wholly contrived metaphor I started with, I should point out a few things.
First, the Oreo cookie was actually a ripoff of Hydrox that preceded it in the market by four years. It’s better (fight me) but it was still a ripoff, so the notion of Oreo ripping itself off with Waffle and Syrup Oreos (yep, those were a thing too) should not be too surprising.
Second, the country still has innovating pioneers, they’ve just moved on from the basics to things like microchips, electric cars, pharmaceuticals, and delivering things really quickly.
Finally, commercializing American patriotism with wince-inducing promotions and junky kitsch has been around since the first President’s Day mattress sale and before. These sloppy all-American Oreos are just one more.
Still, the increasingly ridiculous and desperate proliferation of limited editions and the halfhearted execution to deliver a decent product by a company that doesn’t appear to be trying anymore reminds me a little too much of a nation that has lost a bit of its confidence and moxie. It’s almost as if the cookie meant to celebrate American representation at the Olympics reflects the ambivalence that too many of our athletes have towards the country they are representing.
Still, it’s just a cookie.
Right?
Great, now I’m hungry.
Any chance they make gin & tonic Oreos?