It was as a child that I first noticed the existence of Oreos. They were one of those seemingly exotic things they had in America but we didn’t have in the UK (along with fire hydrants, garbage disposal units, and teeth). As I grew up I saw Oreos mentioned over and over again, in cartoons, on Sesame Street, in films… Oreos were obviously huge in America but we couldn’t get them here and therefore we couldn’t try them. It was very frustrating, not least because Americans didn’t deserve to get exciting biscuits – for a start they called them “cookies”, which is just wrong.
Think how pleased I was then, in recent years, to find that Oreos were on sale here AT LAST! http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/7376123.stm . Oh happy day! I opened my first packet of Oreos with shaking hands and a thrill of anticipation – they looked SO nice. I tasted one… It was actually kind of vile. And by “kind of” I mean it WAS vile. But for some inexplicable reason I still wanted more. I was hooked.
Oreos (as if you didn’t know) taste like somebody has force-fed dark chocolate to a giant rabbit, collected the resulting poos, flattened them into disks and dried them to a brittle hardness. Then they’ve taken the disks, sandwiched them together in pairs, with sweet white creme, and sprinkled the entire batch with salt. I suppose that makes them sound a bit off-putting but they are actually strangely moreish. They most certainly qualify as things so vile that I like them.
Americans dip Oreos in milk, I hear. If you are American – I don’t know how long you’ve been doing that but you are making a huge mistake. Dip them in tea. Milky tea.