I think Oreos are my earliest memory of any significant cookie. My Great Grandfather Jett, a tall thin man, who still wore suspenders and dark gray work pants and smelled of tobacco had a special storage place when we’d visit. He was a soft spoken man, more to be looked at in awe than hugged. I couldn’t have been more than 3 years old at the time. He’d take me with him out on the cool back porch where he stored his cookies. He approached it like he was sharing a treasure and then he’d give me one and he’d take me back into his kitchen and get me some milk. I don’t have a lot of memories of him, he was well into late 80s or early 90s at the time and most of the time I remember him being sick but those memories of him and those cookies I’ll never forget.
Great story. I had my kids totally convinced that I baked Oreos ... and it wasn’t until the first born went to kindergarten with a packed lunch that he discovered the ruse. ;-l