After an EXCITING!!!! day of shuddering under my covers and venturing out once to pick up dinner, I realized something awesome late yesterday night: even when you’re sick, sleeping in means you don’t get to fall asleep quite when you’re supposed to that night. Whacked out on benadryl and slumped at my desk well past 1 AM (prime writing time, by the way), I suddenly sat bolt upright, electrified back into coherence by a burning question of utmost importance:
What the hell happened to Dunkaroos?
Yes, yes, I know. Processed foods are evil. The transfat-laden crap that corporate America would be plunging straight down children’s throats if we’d let ‘em is a scourge, replacing grandma’s real cookies with Grandma’s Cookies and dooming a generation to an uphill battle against obesity. But as you know, some foods are our secret shames, and Dunkaroos were one of mine.
Even as a kid, gleefully tearing through pack after pack, I knew something was Not Right about the sugary, sprinkle-laden frosting that gave the cookies their name. By my third cookie I usually felt pretty queasy, but hell, I didn’t care–petty things like feelings were for after I’d scraped every bit of frosting out of the plastic. And to be honest, I still don’t care. As I munch on organic grapes and sip Coke Zero, I find myself wishing I could indulge in those dippable cookies once more. Come on, man, don’t you tell me that cheerful, jingle-spouting kangaroo (with Aussie accent, natch) didn’t make you want those cookies. Just remembering the commercial makes my stomach growl.
Alas, not even Amazon or eBay can provide me with the cinnamon-flavored blocks of transfat and the vaguely-frosting-like stuff I desire. I guess I’ll have to…
…make some myself. I’ve already got a frosting recipe; now all I need to do is approximate the cookies.
Updates on this mad science project will come whenever I feel crazy enough to spend time baking just to imitate a long-dead prepackaged snack.
-Jim is getting right on this fitness thing, really he is