Tenth Musee

When I was a kid, my mom used to shop at a local natural foods store (which was a lot more granola back in the ‘80s, if I recall). Whenever we went together, she’d let me get a fig bar (or sometimes they were apricot), like a fig newton, only the “cake” part was made from whole wheat that was more like a bran muffin than cake.  As a kid, I grudgingly accepted this sweet offering because I knew it was a fig bar or a big bag of nothing at all.

I recently went back to this store for the first time since I was a kid and as I was cruising the bulk bins for raisins for Lulu, there they were… the fig bars in the square plastic container with the bakery sticker on them: Whole Wheat Fig Bars.  As pricey as the were ($5.29/lb?  Seriously?) I snatched them up and later on that day, busted the container open. Suddenly, I was six years old again.

The smell of the fig bars completely transported me back to my childhood. It was so *weird*, I wasn’t expecting such a tactile memory. And eating that first one was like riding in the rusty metal shopping cart kid’s seat, swinging my legs and grinning at everyone who happened to look in my direction.  I remembered stuff my mom would wear to the store, the color of the scarf on her head, her yellow t-shirt…

I have been struggling lately to remember things about my mom. The actual memories, aged over the last 24 years, get blurred with photographs and other people’s stories and I’ve started forgetting how she moved and sounded.  To be honest, I started forgetting a while ago which I’ve been trying to deny to myself, but it’s started coming up more for me now that I’m around the same age she was when she had me.

So this weird fig bar moment was more than just a snack, it was a revival of something I thought I’d forgotten, a connection to something I thought was lost.  Funny how things sneak up on you when you don’t expect them… like the scale if I don’t stop eating these fig bars.

I noticed last night that in commercials for Oreo cookies, the people in different commercials all eat their Oreo exactly the same way: twist open, lick once, put back together, then dunk and eat. I don’t feel Oreo is best representing a wide cross-section of Oreo eaters. It’s like they’re trying to set some kind of Oreo-eating standard.  I have never in my entire life met anyone whose Oreo Process™ was that.

Oh, I don’t doubt they’re out there — those who absolutely must eat their Oreo just like they do in the commercial. But what about the artists? The rebels? What about those who just bite into it as-is?  What about those who (*gasp!*) couldn’t give a damn about the “creme” filling?  What about those who consume sans milk?!

Personally, my Oreo Process is as follows:

• Nibble off the top cookie in little bites like a mouse.
• Scrape off the “creme” filling with my bottom teeth in small bits. Never lick.
• Nibble bottom cookie at my leisure.
• Store on my thighs for Winter.

I’m not saying it should be done like this, per se. I just don’t understand why Oreo feels they have to force their belief system on the rest of us.  We’re buying and eating your cookie, Nabisco. What more do you want from us?  Our souls?