Mama didn’t want us to leave home and miss her good home-cooking, and we didn’t. All eight of us, though, miss her expert buying of the finest treats.
When we were young there were treats from Sibley’s. When Sibley’s closed, the baked goods were bought at the bakery up the street.
The sweetest era was when my two older sisters and I were in college. During those years the super-supermarket Wegman’s sold a superior chocolate chip cookie. It was just a bit smaller than a tea plate and soft to the tooth. Whatever shortening they used melted immediately upon hitting the back of the mouth. It was a perfect cookie.
Mama would send care packages to us at our colleges and we would dole out the coveted cookies with magnanimity, kind possessors of things desired.
Mama brought some Wegman’s cookies arranged carefully in a round tin container on one trip to pick up my sister from college. My sister’s room-mate was coming home with her for break and another student from Rochester was sharing a ride home.
The collegiates settled in the car.
“I brought some cookies!” Mama encouraged.
“I love these cookies! You make the best cookies – they’re all so perfectly shaped!” enthused my sister’s room-mate.
“If you make round balls out of the dough you get that uniform look…” mama riposted.
“Yeah, but you didn’t make these,” said the cocky kid who was sharing the ride.
“Of course she did,” insisted the room-mate, “They’re in this tin with wax paper the way they always are in the care packages. Right Mrs. B.?”
Mama paused. Then the finky kid said, “No way; these are Wegman's cookies. No way did you make these.”
“Well, no, but I bought them and that’s just as good.”
When we were young there were treats from Sibley’s. When Sibley’s closed, the baked goods were bought at the bakery up the street.
The sweetest era was when my two older sisters and I were in college. During those years the super-supermarket Wegman’s sold a superior chocolate chip cookie. It was just a bit smaller than a tea plate and soft to the tooth. Whatever shortening they used melted immediately upon hitting the back of the mouth. It was a perfect cookie.
Mama would send care packages to us at our colleges and we would dole out the coveted cookies with magnanimity, kind possessors of things desired.
Mama brought some Wegman’s cookies arranged carefully in a round tin container on one trip to pick up my sister from college. My sister’s room-mate was coming home with her for break and another student from Rochester was sharing a ride home.
The collegiates settled in the car.
“I brought some cookies!” Mama encouraged.
“I love these cookies! You make the best cookies – they’re all so perfectly shaped!” enthused my sister’s room-mate.
“If you make round balls out of the dough you get that uniform look…” mama riposted.
“Yeah, but you didn’t make these,” said the cocky kid who was sharing the ride.
“Of course she did,” insisted the room-mate, “They’re in this tin with wax paper the way they always are in the care packages. Right Mrs. B.?”
Mama paused. Then the finky kid said, “No way; these are Wegman's cookies. No way did you make these.”
“Well, no, but I bought them and that’s just as good.”
 Why send cookies like this in a care package.... |  .....when you can send cookies that look like this? |
RSS Feed