Berry Burst Ice Cream Oreos

I’ve had bad experiences with Oreos. When I was younger, I would gag at the taste of the crisp chocolate cookies that surrounded the delectable white frosting cushioned between, so that my mother would find the perfectly intact Nabisco treats—the gritty middle siphoned—on top of the trash pile.

Later, after learning how to somehow appreciate the chocolatey bookends to the savory double-stuffed core, a friend convinced me to try the new mint flavored ones the cookie company had just introduced. I was hesitant at first but had divine images of Girl Scout Thin Mints in Oreo form painted in my mind by said friend and soon she had me reaching for these cookie innovations, one in each hand.

They tasted like toothpaste. I’ve blocked the rest of the experience out of my memory, but the singular taste of mint toothpaste like the kind a dentist uses has remained. Since then I have refused the new Nabisco arrivals with a swift and unwavering determination. Until now.

The scoop of bubblegum pink ice cream is what initially caught my interest. The newest flavored Oreos, “Berry Burst Ice Cream,” with the specks of what I presumed to be strawberry bits in the icing, instilled a newfound hope of cookie sandwich bliss. I grabbed a carton and all but drooled through the checkout line. On the drive home I imagined a perfect harmony of ice cream smoothness and chocolate crunch.

“What? It’s not that bad,” Kelly mumbles between bites—a speck of Oreo on his lips—as I gag and shake my head as a fervent no. Upon the first bite, there is the expected chocolate crispness, and it is before my tongue presses against the roof of my mouth that I think the curse has lifted. But I realize instantly that I celebrated prematurely, and a chalky, gritty paste that smells like cheap strawberry chapstick and tastes like off-brand Tums fills my mouth. There is the initial sharp tang that clenches jaw muscles like the childhood memories of sucking on Warheads, and what remains is a film that sticks to the insides of my cheek regardless of my repeated swallowing.

After the first couple of bites, I couldn’t even finish the rest of the thing. I coaxed Kelly into taking what was left and wiped my hands of the whole cookie disaster. I’d like to think that my four dollars weren’t wasted on this compulsive buy, but as I push them towards the back of the pantry, I imagine them growing as stale and spongy as that first minty bite years ago. But maybe not all is lost. I could scrape off the filling and achieve an Oreo balance from my youth, with a pink puree on the top of the trash pile.