Oreos
They seem to be a cookie you never outgrow. Chances are that you loved them as much today as the very first time you deconstructed one. Did you know they’re not the first sandwich cookie of that style? I didn’t either. The Hydrox cookie holds the official title for being the first chocolate/vanilla sandwich cookie. It isn’t a surprise that folks were quick to jump in and do a little light thievery of the design, and I think Nabisco nailed it when they refined the Oreo.
 
I love the concept of the not-very-sweet chocolate cookie sandwiching an absurdly sweet crème center. It mixes two very distinct textures and has a very nice ratio. I’ve tried to get that ratio spot-on as I’ve recreated it for my take on the classic Oreo cake. My signature chocolate sponge isn’t overly sweet, in fact it is just on the sweet side of savory which makes it a great host to the Oreo filling which is placed in the center of the cake atop each layer in a small disk. Each layer gets wrapped in a delicious vanilla hyper-whipped buttercream and topped with a generous dose of some lightly improved Oreo crumb which now sports a slightly buttery note and a little extra chocolate to cut the sweetness. The whole affair is then wrapped with the same hyper-whipped vanilla buttercream and then drenched in a delicious fudge drip which also adorns the eight Oreos sitting on the crown.
 
What is the Oreo cake?
 
It’s coming in from a bright spring day to an ice-cold mug of milk and cookies on a plate. It’s sand in your sneakers and salt on your lips after a day at the beach. It’s the great unknown as you pack the cooler full of sandwiches and snacks before you head across the country in dad’s old station wagon. It’s following a meandering trail in a National Park as you stop and dad reads what they say. It’s making mud pies in the forest with your cousin and being absolutely dumbfounded when he actually tries to eat one. It’s jumping out of the barn loft into a big pile of hay. It’s catching crawdads in the ditch alongside the road. It’s cooking the ear of corn you picked from the neighbor’s farm. It’s tube socks with colors at the top and Chuck Taylor’s on your feet. It’s an impossibly long rope to climb in gym class. It is the flavor of coming of age that we never abandoned, and we secretly retreat to when we’re having a bad day; the vending machine holds a visit to those summers so long ago.