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The mere sight of an Oreo stirs up feelings in me disturbingly like love. Not, of course, a torrid, star crossed love. Or even a simple storybook love. No, Oreos give you the kind of love only found in a long term relationship. They're familiar, comforting and pretty good in bed. (Oh, like you never eat cookies in bed?)
And while Oreos never disappoint, they never offer excitement or surprise either. Except around the holidays.
Like seeing someone you love in a new place, in new clothes, with a new attitude. Suddenly, all of that familiarity vanishes and you can only think of how good they look in red. Or how you can't believe you've never played in the snow together. Or delectable they look in that fluffy white robe.
I'm talking about Nabisco's Limited Edition Winter Oreos, Candy Cane Oreos, and Creamy White Chocolate Oreos.
Of them all, Winter Oreos offer the most superficial charm. Taking a page from Number 6's human seduction playbook, Winter Oreos wear a sultry red. The culinary equivalent of donning a fur trimmed red hat and singing "Santa Baby." Kinda cute, but not very clever.
Candy Cane Oreos, however, come dashing through the snow, hell-bent on making spirits bright. Nothing says "Christmas Spirit" quite like a candy cane. These Oreos wear a charming snowflake stamp on top with a sporty swirl of red and white inside. But they do more than look pretty. They have an addictive peppermint flavor (fact: Chocolate carved Peppermint's name on a tree in the 6th grade) and, even better, the crystalline crunch of candy canes bits inside.
To continue the cookies-as-Christmas-songs motif, Creamy White Chocolate Oreos would definitely sing, "Baby It's Cold Outside." One look at the heavy coating of pseudo-white Chocolate and you'll be all like, "I ought to say no, no, no." But White Chocolate Oreo, having none of it, lays it on thick: "Your eyes are like starlight now." Next thing you know the wrapper's on the floor...
The problem with the Limited Edition Holiday Oreos? They really mean business with that "Limited" nonsense. I've never even spotted the Candy Cane variety in the wild. So rather than drive from store to store trying find something that may not even exist, why not make some for yourself?
Swipe a few candy canes off the tree and fall in love with Fauxreos all over again.
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About the Author: Stella Parks suffers from an unhealthy obsession with recreating the mass produced snacks of her childhood, but ironically is employed by a Frenchman to make the high brow desserts of his childhood. She blogs that dichotomy at bravetart.com and can be followed on Twitter at @thebravetart.