THE KEYSTONE COOKIE

by Wilkinson Riling

What’s your favorite cookie?

Mine? To the detriment of my waistline, I love them all; chocolate chip, oatmeal, macarons, black and white, Pecan Sandies, Vienna Fingers, Nilla Wafers (wafers are just crackers aspiring to be something more than just a cracker), shortbread, gingerbread, sandwich cremes, peanut butter, coconut, Fig Newtons, mallomars, all varieties of the sugar stuffed goodies the Girl Scouts offer. Except for thin mints, I never developed a taste for those. Something about the menthol I find jarring, it counters the velvety richness of the dark chocolate and sometimes feels like Vick’s Vapor Rub filling my nostrils. I find Thin Mint’s popularity puzzling. But I digest, I mean, I digress…

The fact is, putting one cookie above the rest by flavor can be daunting. As of this writing, I would say for myself, the Oreo is king, with chocolate chip standing close in line in succession. Fresh from the oven C.C.’s could easily usurp my current reigning confection. Since favorite cookie status could change depending on whether it’s freshly baked or pre-packaged, for argument’s sake, let’s stay with store bought cookies for this discussion. It’s with those factory baked, processed goodies that I discovered a unique characteristic in my long love affair with the cookie allowing me to have a favorite in all cookie situations.

For, no matter what kind, there exists a cookie that earns, deserves and receives my utmost respect. A respect formed from gratitude. I speak, of course, of the Keystone Cookie. What, might you ask, is the Keystone Cookie? It is the Gunga Din of baked treats which I treat with a solemn reverence.

The Keystone Cookie is the very first cookie your fingers pinch to remove from the tray. It creates the space that now allows for a complete cookie assault. With its removal, you are free to inflict any amount of damage you choose to bring down upon the freshly opened package. Whether grabbing only a few or seizing something the size of a professional gambler’s stack of poker chips, a fist full of cookies, if you will. The Keystone Cookie is the first cookie “Over the top!” from the crammed trenches of the sandwich tray. It may appear to be a chance selection, but trust me, despite the randomness, this is a brave cookie.

To begin with, this cookie has to face the fact it will be the first victim consumed and washed down your gullet in a torrent of milk.

Secondly, the remaining cookies undoubtedly see it as the “Judas Cookie.” The betrayer in the tray. To them, it leaves the gate open for the barbarians to pillage and plunder rest of the cookie village.

There’s no going home for this cookie. If you were to try to return it back to the package for some reason; say for instance, it’s midnight and you hear your spouse stirring while you’re sneaking a late night snack, one might try to shove it back before being caught snacking. You can be sure that the Keystone Cookie will crumble from the tight squeeze brought by the anger, rejection and pressure from the other cookies. In short, the Keystone Cookie faces stresses no other cookie faces.

You won’t find a Keystone Cookie in a cookie jar. Cookie jars are for wusses. In a jar, it’s every cookie for himself, clinging to the sides in the darkness, burrowing to the bottom, pushing their comrades to the top. Going stale before their time. Laying willy-nilly, waiting to be abducted one at a time. No uniformed stacking, no structure. No, “We’re all in this together” motto. Pure cookie anarchy. You can keep your stinking cookie jars.

These are the reasons I hold the Keystone Cookie in such high regard. It’s why I believe it would be cruel, forcing such a cookie to have to watch as I devour his former friends. Tearing their heads off and licking their double stuffed innards like a toddler with a large lollipop. Or made to watch as I dunk a single cookie in milk, removing it, then consuming it, half drowned, and barely holding together. Or smushing two cookies together like conjoined carnival twins. The Keystone Cookie deserves better.

In the end, as I reach for the Keystone Cookie, it's not merely a snack I seek, but becomes a moment of communion. With each bite, it's as if I partake in a sacred ritual, a baptism in milk that sanctifies the cookie-eating experience. For in the simple act of enjoying this brave yet humble treat, I find a moment of bliss, a respite from the chaos of the world, and a celebration of life's simple pleasures.

So, dear reader, the next time you select that solitary Keystone Cookie nestled snuggly in the tray, take a moment to appreciate its significance. Recognize it not just as a mere cookie, but as a symbol of unity, sacrifice, and the joy of indulgence. For in the humble Keystone Cookie, we find not just a treat, but a reminder to always make room for a little extra sweetness in our lives.

That’s the way the Keystone Cookie should crumble.