The Oreo Sandwich

Noah Solomon

The New Jersey grocer from Hoboken had just gotten off of work. He was beaten and wanted to go home after a long 10-hour shift. He closed up his small business where he sold groceries and small goods. He glanced at the only old clock in his shop as the big hand ticked past 7. It was getting late in the day; the grocer put on his jacket, headed outside in a beaten done-with-the-day manner. The only light was the disappearing sunset brushed across the sky. The red and orange light just peeking over the horizon as if to see the New Jersey streets. The piercing wind greeted him sharply as he inhaled and felt the knife like cold air ring through his nose. He shivered, lowered his head, stuffed his hands in his pockets and began the long trek to his small home. He looked up at the swirling flurry of little snowflakes circling towards him. Disgusted at this sight in March, he groaned and continued his walk down the Jersey streets.

People were still out and about, but all of the shops were closed. Everyone outside was beginning to retreat to their homes for the night. The grocer groaned again realizing he hadn’t eaten since 12 o’clock when he ate the lunch his wife packed. He wished he could somehow bring food and keep it with him on long work days, but he knew that was outrageous; the food would spoil by the time he would eat it many hours later. He waved this thought off, thinking the idea was stupid. Ten minutes passed and he was about a mile away from his home. The cold air still piercing, but the painted sunset had disappeared. He glanced up from his buried position in his warm heavy jacket and saw a shop that was still lit. He found this strange; he had walked these streets countless times but he hadn’t seen this store before. He decided to enter the store to see what they were selling. He glanced at the sign outside of the store: “Nabisco.”

The shop was lit with oil lamps. The heat from the flames was warm. The grocer asked the store owner, “Good day, what have you here?”

The store owner looked ecstatic and pitched his main item with pride as if he had rehearsed it many times: “The best cookie you will ever taste guaranteed, called The Oreo, exciting your mouth with three new flavors.”

The grocer chuckled to himself clearly uninterested. The store owner must have understood the grocer’s feelings as he went on to say, “Two beautifully embossed chocolate-flavored wafers with a rich cream filling,” a desperate attempt to hold the grocers’ attention.

“Please buy one sir. Today is the grand opening of my shop and nobody has bought an Oreo sandwich all day.”

The grocer felt bad for the store owner so he decided to indulge in the matter. He paid 25 cents for 3 Oreo cookies that came in a glass encasing. The grocer’s lips were dry from the cold. He licked them slightly, a sign of his hunger. He studied The Oreo’s unique design with 4 clovers surrounding the word, “Oreo.” He bit into the Oreo, and his taste buds tingled. He tasted the perfect cream to chocolate patty ratio: 33 percent cream, 67 percent chocolate patty. He wavered his body with delight and quickly downed all 3.

The store owner took out a notepad and wrote, First customer: March

His mind raced; he started to smile realizing what this store owner had done. If he could process other foods, then the grocer could hold food in his store that would stay fresh for longer. He thought of his mediocre corner grocery store and his wife and future family; he needed to do better for them. If he could process other foods like The Oreo, he could finally make enough money for his family, and maybe even support his dying parents. He could even bring food from his home to eat later that would not go bad.

He tasted the perfect cream to chocolate ratio: 33 percent cream, 67 percent chocolate patty.

6th, 1910. The store owner looked up and proceeded to give a history lesson on his cookie. He was proud of taking the idea from a similar cookie ‘The Hydrox.’ He talked all about his plans to change the cookie’s name to “The Oreo Sandwich” in many years and then to just “The Oreo.” He said the cookie’s cream was made out of pig lard and explained how he created this new technique to process foods so they last longer. The Oreo was a prime example of his processing technique. The store owner continued to talk, but the grocer tuned him out, lost in thought. The store owner’s words muddled and muffled in the background. The grocer began throwing thoughts back and forth.

He looked into the future where he could walk into the Oreo makers store and buy delicious Oreos and go back to work. Or even buy a whole batch of fresh, unprecedented Oreos, and sell them in his store. He was enticed by these ideas. He was ecstatic about the food possibilities that this little Oreo had created. The grocer knew what was to become of that little cookie. He pictured a world of processed food and the money behind it all. What made him really smile was the fact that he could eat Oreos all day at his little store; his hunger problem on long work days was solved. The grocer gave his head a quick shake and tuned back into the present. He turned to the store owner who was still talking about his cookie and smiled big once again. Before the grocer left that store, he said, grinning, “I’m gonna need the recipe.”

Dreams // Mira Zelle