The other day I was in my office building elevator with two young women who were eating single-serving packages of Oreo cookies. One of them said, “the best Oreo is a free Oreo.” Now, I don’t know where they got their free snacks, but I know that there is an Oreo better than the ones they were eating. Because I’ve seen the World’s Greatest Oreo.
During my sophomore year of college, one of my roommates decided to aggressively let himself go. No exercise, no dietary restrictions (except for one time when he inexplicably and hilariously drew the line at cooking eggs with butter instead of cooking spray–but I digress). He basically spent the whole year saying, “Fuck it, I don’t care if I get fat.” This sort of creative commitment is how you get something like the World’s Greatest Oreo.
My roommate’s moment of inspiration looked like this: He took a large stein mug, and put most of a 30-pack of Oreos into it. He then poured milk over the cookies, filling the mug nearly to the brim, sealed his concoction with plastic wrap, and placed it in the fridge to let the Oreos marinate.
The next day (!) he unveiled his sickly marinated cookie stew and ate it with a spoon, like breakfast cereal. He offered me a taste, but I couldn’t bring myself to try it. I was terrified.
I wish I had a photo, but this all happened twelve years ago. My former roommate now vacillates a bit in terms of taking care of himself–he occasionally hits the treadmill, but don’t try to sneak a combo platter past him–and he’s generally done well for himself: wife, kid, job, house, yadda yadda. After the women in the elevator reminded me of the World’s Greatest Oreo, I texted him and asked if he remembered his creation. His response: “Of course. It was the fattest thing I’ve ever done.”
Well met, sir.