A few days ago, I stopped by the local grocery store to stock up on post-lunch dessert options: usually, a cookie of some sort, ideally to be dunked in milk, perhaps pre-coated in frosting. I had a hankering... an Oreo hankering. Much to my dismay, a week earlier I had seen the tell-tale orange cream middle of a new, seasonal variety of the chocolate-sandwich cookies: Halloween Oreos. On September 13th. I know, this is an old whine, but hopefully it ages well. As much as I desired the themed cookie, I couldn't bring myself to jumpstart my favorite holiday season a month in advance. Had I been jewish, this sort of mentality would've driven my forebears to celebrate my manhood at the first sign of upright urination.... and I now realize I've somehow gotten off-track. Oh yes: the faux-reo.
Since I could not abide by the pre-emptive spooky cream-filled chocolate cookie, I was forced into generic-brand-buying action. (And I promise never to use four hyphens in the span of a single sentence again.) This particular store sold their own version of Oreos, called "O'mazin' Os." Which, while clever, seems a tad redundant in their use of the product-shaped letter. The package exclaims: "Like Oreo(R) Chocolate Sandwich Cookies? You'll Love Us!*" (The asterisk leads you to the back of the package, with the disclaimer that Oreo is a registered trademark of Nabisco, and C & S Wholesale Grocers, Inc., [makers of O'mazing Os] is not in any way affiliated with Nabisco. I yearn for the day when a brand-name product asks, "Love Generic Fruity Circle-Shaped Cereal? Then why are you paying $2 more for a box with a tropical bird on it? Are you that much of an ornithophile?" or something to that effect.)
Anyway. The verdict? O'mazing Os, while at first appearing to lack the generous cream-to-cookie ratio of Oreos, stand up quite well to the Nabisco version. The chocolate has a solid dissolve-rate, so that when dunked in milk the cookie retains its form just enough to not fall apart, while aborbing enough of the liquid to ensure that soft, almost creamy texture when it dissolves in your mouth. This might have to do with the miniature floral design on the surface of the cookie itself--visually, a nice, subtle touch, with suitable ridges and depth to capture and hold the milk post-immersion, and not as self-promoting as Oreo's eponymous stamp. And something I've learned just now, while doing some research with the remnants of my morning coffee, is that O'mazing Os taste arguably better dunked in coffee--they remind me of one of my favorite ice cream flavors, "Coffee Oreo." Which, admittedly, makes a lot of sense. Just be forewarned: The heat of the coffee will make your cookie fall apart more quickly than when dunked into cold milk, as the faster-moving molecules will disseminate throughout the cookie with greater haste than the slow, lumbering H2cOw. Still, in my opinion, it's worth the risk.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Friday, September 14, 2007
The Indomitable Oh's
I take no credit for the topic of this post. All royalties and payment should be forwarded onto a Miss __________, lady friend of myself, who spoke of how she ate her cereal yesterday too quickly and was still feeling the effects of the hard, crunchy circles on her mouth.
So here's the problem: Honey Graham Oh's are quite possibly the greatest cereal ever concocted. Each morsel comprises two things--a circular shape, similar to a Cheerio but somehow thicker and heartier, and a filling of granola-y stuff, sweetened with honey, flecked with graham cracker type bits. Imagine the most flavorful Honey Nut Cheerio ever, some mistake off the production line where the nutty and sweet flavor saturated the cereal more than was originally intended, and THEN someone else infiltrated the factory and stuffed each hole with more goodness, crushed up grahams, a glazing of honey, a residue of nuts and oat off the pristine floor of the Nature Valley factory right down the street (hypothetically).
Then multiply that by a thousand. You've got a box of Oh's. But there exists a malfeasance within all this yummy-in-a-bowl. The cereal by itself, you see, is very crispy and crunchy. And hard. Snack on them one, two at a time, and you'll find no cause for alarm. But pour them in a bowl, and spoon a heaping pile into your mouth (which is what you'll do, as you can not resist the aforementioned flavor combination), and the resultant crunching and smacking going on inside your mouth, around your teeth, over your gums, up on the roof of your mouth, may very well cause these gentle insides to sting a bit. The Oh's, delicious as they may be, are a damaging cereal to the soft, giving flesh of the mouth's inner sanctum. Those same oat clusters and honey-laced circles that taste so good wreak havoc with their sharp edges, their pointy hunks of nut or grain. And yet still you chew, and swallow, and scoop again--the cycle repeats; the mouth is sore the next morning. You eat them anyway, 'cause they're so gob-smackin' good.
I offer you this solution. Pre-soak your Oh's. It sounds a bit scandalous, I know: "He told you to pre-soak your oh's? What does that mean, gargle while moaning?" You misinterpret me. Pour those Oh's in the bowl. Then pour your milk on top, ideally until the milk is just visible within the circles of the unfortunate empties. Then go make your coffee. Brush your hair. Work on that stubborn cuff-link on your right sleeve, the one almost impossible to do without help from a second person, enough to make you question the nobility of a profession that necessitates one wearing a sleeve with an impossible fastener. Now go back, and enjoy that bowl of previously dangerous Oh's, now rendered harmless yet still crunchy and delightful.
Other suggestions are welcome. I hope you can find this scrumptious breakfast food in your local Cereal aisle, as they're not available everywhere. Go, seek, find your Oh's. Before they find you.
So here's the problem: Honey Graham Oh's are quite possibly the greatest cereal ever concocted. Each morsel comprises two things--a circular shape, similar to a Cheerio but somehow thicker and heartier, and a filling of granola-y stuff, sweetened with honey, flecked with graham cracker type bits. Imagine the most flavorful Honey Nut Cheerio ever, some mistake off the production line where the nutty and sweet flavor saturated the cereal more than was originally intended, and THEN someone else infiltrated the factory and stuffed each hole with more goodness, crushed up grahams, a glazing of honey, a residue of nuts and oat off the pristine floor of the Nature Valley factory right down the street (hypothetically).
Then multiply that by a thousand. You've got a box of Oh's. But there exists a malfeasance within all this yummy-in-a-bowl. The cereal by itself, you see, is very crispy and crunchy. And hard. Snack on them one, two at a time, and you'll find no cause for alarm. But pour them in a bowl, and spoon a heaping pile into your mouth (which is what you'll do, as you can not resist the aforementioned flavor combination), and the resultant crunching and smacking going on inside your mouth, around your teeth, over your gums, up on the roof of your mouth, may very well cause these gentle insides to sting a bit. The Oh's, delicious as they may be, are a damaging cereal to the soft, giving flesh of the mouth's inner sanctum. Those same oat clusters and honey-laced circles that taste so good wreak havoc with their sharp edges, their pointy hunks of nut or grain. And yet still you chew, and swallow, and scoop again--the cycle repeats; the mouth is sore the next morning. You eat them anyway, 'cause they're so gob-smackin' good.
I offer you this solution. Pre-soak your Oh's. It sounds a bit scandalous, I know: "He told you to pre-soak your oh's? What does that mean, gargle while moaning?" You misinterpret me. Pour those Oh's in the bowl. Then pour your milk on top, ideally until the milk is just visible within the circles of the unfortunate empties. Then go make your coffee. Brush your hair. Work on that stubborn cuff-link on your right sleeve, the one almost impossible to do without help from a second person, enough to make you question the nobility of a profession that necessitates one wearing a sleeve with an impossible fastener. Now go back, and enjoy that bowl of previously dangerous Oh's, now rendered harmless yet still crunchy and delightful.
Other suggestions are welcome. I hope you can find this scrumptious breakfast food in your local Cereal aisle, as they're not available everywhere. Go, seek, find your Oh's. Before they find you.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
The Grilled Muffin: A Recommendation
You eat your muffins plain, baked once. And you enjoy them. I can appreciate that. I did just the same for many moons... a muffin batter was concocted, filled with all sorts of fillings: berries, cinnamon, chocolate chips. banana mash, what have you. Then it was ladled into baking cups and thrown in an oven, allowed to rise with the heat, cook up into a fluffy yet firm approximation of a mushroomed dome of dough. Yummy when still-warm; very good after being cooled. Nibbled at whole, split down the middle, broken into chunks--The muffin is hard to eat incorrectly.
But there is a better way. To nosh on the once-baked muffin is to enjoy french bread by its lonesome. Certainly, at times this is the preference. Some want their Vanilla, while others opt for the Chunky Monkey. But if you've found your muffins wanting recently, I plead you to consider the Grilled technique.
Split that muffin in half. Spread each side with a thick coat of butter, OR drop a slice of butter in a warming skillet, over medium heat. Or do both. Then, when the pan is hot or the butter is bubbling liquid, place each half cut-side down onto the pan. There will be a tiny sizzle; this is the sound of greatness elevated. An already superb food is slowly transcending its original state, and becoming something much more than the sum of its part. The butter is crystallizing, browning and crunchifying the surface of the cross-section, seeping into the body, infusing the whole with a richness often baked out of the already-butter-rich batter. Your kitchen fills with the pleasant smell of butter and _________ (insert muffin flavor here: sweet banana? apple cinnamon? blueberry crumble? hearty bran? decadent chocolate?). When ready, the cut-side will have developed the deep golden brown of french toast, or grilled cheese. Slide those bad boys into a shallow dish, ideally with a bit of a volume to it, the better to encase the muffin and retain some of its own heat. If heat-retention is a priority, place a bowl over the dish while eating the first half, allowing the rising steam to coat the bowl and keep the muffin warm with its own condensation.
Each bite promises a different sensation. The grilled bits will be buttery, crunchy, hot; the portions kept away from the griddle will be softer, moist, a delightful contrast to the harshness of the grilled edge. Altogether, the Grilled Muffin offers something both accessible and complicated: for me, a delicious newness to a baked good I had enjoyed yet taken for granted in my years of simple-bake consumption. So please, eat your muffins how you wish. But if you haven't already, I implore you to try this revelation of secondary cooking--split, butter and grill, then eat, then swoon over what you've been missing for all these years.
But there is a better way. To nosh on the once-baked muffin is to enjoy french bread by its lonesome. Certainly, at times this is the preference. Some want their Vanilla, while others opt for the Chunky Monkey. But if you've found your muffins wanting recently, I plead you to consider the Grilled technique.
Split that muffin in half. Spread each side with a thick coat of butter, OR drop a slice of butter in a warming skillet, over medium heat. Or do both. Then, when the pan is hot or the butter is bubbling liquid, place each half cut-side down onto the pan. There will be a tiny sizzle; this is the sound of greatness elevated. An already superb food is slowly transcending its original state, and becoming something much more than the sum of its part. The butter is crystallizing, browning and crunchifying the surface of the cross-section, seeping into the body, infusing the whole with a richness often baked out of the already-butter-rich batter. Your kitchen fills with the pleasant smell of butter and _________ (insert muffin flavor here: sweet banana? apple cinnamon? blueberry crumble? hearty bran? decadent chocolate?). When ready, the cut-side will have developed the deep golden brown of french toast, or grilled cheese. Slide those bad boys into a shallow dish, ideally with a bit of a volume to it, the better to encase the muffin and retain some of its own heat. If heat-retention is a priority, place a bowl over the dish while eating the first half, allowing the rising steam to coat the bowl and keep the muffin warm with its own condensation.
Each bite promises a different sensation. The grilled bits will be buttery, crunchy, hot; the portions kept away from the griddle will be softer, moist, a delightful contrast to the harshness of the grilled edge. Altogether, the Grilled Muffin offers something both accessible and complicated: for me, a delicious newness to a baked good I had enjoyed yet taken for granted in my years of simple-bake consumption. So please, eat your muffins how you wish. But if you haven't already, I implore you to try this revelation of secondary cooking--split, butter and grill, then eat, then swoon over what you've been missing for all these years.
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