Lunchbox Legends: Devil Dogs and Oreo Cookies

A Cookie Manifesto: Six at a Time

When I was a kid, it was difficult to decide which treat was better on any given day. Most days, I went for both—one tucked into my lunchbox, the other waiting for me after school.

I loved the lunch Devil Dog, an individually wrapped, yummy, creamy, mushy, white marshmallow center nestled between two pieces of elongated chocolatey, dark brown cakes.

The Devil Dog could be a smidge dry, so I swirled it with a swig of refreshing cold milk. That’s when the magic happened—the cake softened, the cream oozed, and suddenly it was the experience.

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. Born for grit, 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,

His uniform is different,
The best you've ever seen.
The Germans call him Devil Dog,
His real name is Marine.

songs, movies, and team names. It was an easy name for the Drake Baking Company to adopt.

Save 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.

Wait, Wait, you’re telling me that you don’t know what a Napoleon is? You think it has something to do with a general?

Well . . .

A Napoleon (could it have something to do with Naples, Italy?) is a classic dessert. often called mille-feuille (French for “a thousand leaves”), it consists of alternating layers of crisp, flaky puff pastry and rich pastry cream and is typically topped with powdered sugar, icing, or a chocolate-feathered glaze.

Here it is . . . the Napoleon

Ok, back to The Dog and The Oreo

As much as I loved the Devil Dog, nothing really compared to the Oreo. Not a Twinkie, not a lemon square, not even a fancy éclair. Oreos were something else—two chocolate wafers stamped with their name, hugging a slab of creamy filling.

I could be creative with an Oreo

Some dunked, others split them apart and licked the middle first. One could, I suppose, separate the cookie, and lick the cream first. Not good enough. Oreos were made for milk, and they belonged in a tall glass, six at a time. I’d stack them in, pour the milk, and watch as the cookies soaked it up, bubbles rising between the layers.

I loved war movies when I was a kid, so I likened this to a military operation.

· Stack in a column.

· Deploy the amphibious . . . milk to cookie

· Bubbles signify occupation

· The victory chant after the slurp . . . Ooh-rah!

Ahhh . . . a chunk of cream sandwiched between branded discs of chocolate.

Patience was critical.

I waited until the sharp lines between the cookie and cream faded, and the Oreos were soft. Then, with my Hopalong Cassidy spoon, so as not to invite an explosion,

Can you see Hoppy?

I’d gently work my way to the bottom of the glass. Move too fast, and you risked a chocolate milk eruption—something I learned the hard way more than once. If done too quickly, the milk and Oreos erupted, strafing me with an artillery of milk-laced chocolate. I became the expert.

As the milk trickled down the thin spaces between glass and cookies, then between the wafer and the cream, froths arose. The Oreos succumbed when they were softened, and gummy. When the distinction between white and brown blurred, they were ready.

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.

Ooo-rah!

Every now and then, I’d split a Devil Dog or an Oreo and go straight for the filling, but that was rare. Real aficionados knew better.

The Devil Dog and the Oreo—those were the ultimate desserts.

Nothing else even came close.

So . . . what would you add as your favorite?

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