The Tossup Between Devil Dogs and Oreo Cookies - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli
Dr. Ed Iannuccilli, Contributor
The Tossup Between Devil Dogs and Oreo Cookies - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli
I loved to open my lunch to find the Devil Dog, an individually wrapped, yummy, creamy, mushy, white marshmallow center nestled between two pieces of elongated chocolatey, dark brown cakes. Because the Devil Dog could be a smidge dry, I swirled it with a swig of refreshing cold milk that made it mushy as the cream burst from the cakes with its refreshing taste.
According to legend, they’re called Devil Dogs as during World War I, the German soldiers called the U.S. Marines "Devil Dogs" because of their tenacity, persistence, and determination under fire. The nickname endures today as part of the Marine Corps' legacy. The phrase gained immense popularity, appearing on a U.S. recruiting poster, in poems and songs, in movies, and even as sports-team names. It was an easy name for the Drake Baking Company to adopt.
GET THE LATEST BREAKING NEWS HERE -- SIGN UP FOR GOLOCAL FREE DAILY EBLASTSave for the ‘Dog’, little compared with the Oreo . . . not a Twinkie, not a Napoleon, not a hermit cookie or a lemon square, not an éclair. The Oreo cookie was a chunk of cream sandwiched between branded discs of chocolate. Some, I suppose, would eat an Oreo, and follow it with a gulp of milk. Not good enough. One could, I suppose, separate the cookie, and lick the cream first. Not good enough either. The treat was made for milk and shaped for a tall glass. Six fit perfectly. I stacked them, poured on the milk, watched, and waited. Patience was critical.
As the milk trickled down the thin spaces between glass and cookie layers, then between the wafer and the cream, froths arose. The Oreos had succumbed when they were softened, and gummy. When the distinction between white and brown blurred, they were ready.
So as not to invite an explosion, I pushed my Hopalong Cassidy spoon along the side of the stack to the bottom with care. If done too quickly, the milk and Oreos erupted, sometimes strafing me with an artillery of milk-laced chocolate. I became the expert.
With a careful, delicate twist, I penetrated the compote, filled the spoon, and slurped the slurry home. The soft mushy blend of cold milk, softened chocolate and cream was delightful, the perfect combination. My tongue became maestro as I directed it through the creamy paste, squeezed it against my cheeks, pressed it from my hard to soft palate, waited in a moment of delight, then swallowed. When I finished, I tipped the glass and drank the last of the milk, flecks of chocolate and creamy morsels sometimes dribbling over my chin to my neck.
There were times when I separated the halves of the Dog and the Oreo, licked the center first, then ate the pastry, but that was unusual as no bonafide expert would do that.
Ah, the Dog and the Oreo. Dessert heaven.
