Be Thankful For What You Wish For

Today was a day of celebration. I was celebrating an off day after six straight Christmas-shopping retail days of work, and celebrating last night's successful poetry reading (successful not so much in terms of mass adulation from a five-figure crowd, but successful in terms of not being heckled, not having my poetic license revoked, and not provoking any audience member to run from my words out of the room screaming, "My God, I'm going to be sick"). How did I celebrate? By putting my nose back to the grindstone by doing loads of laundry and some much-needed grocery shopping, all wrapped around a nice afternoon nap. A pretty normal off day, to be honest. But the celebrating came before during and after all the domestic chores: I've been happily munching Fig Newtons all day.

What, you say? I knew poets were crazy, but you've gone 'round the bend, boy. Fig Newtons = Celebration? As Sarah says, youbetcha! Now I've had nothing but a pleasant history with Fig Newtons. But the emphasis is on history. I liked them as a kid, but I can't say that in all my grocery shopping since childhood I've ever bought a package of Fig Newtons. But chalk up my newly-revived admiration for the delicious cookie to the holiday season. See, we recently had a Secret Santa thing ($15 limit) at work. Weeks ago we pulled names and this past Sunday at our party we revealed and gifted. Early on in the process, as I was talking Secret Santa strategies with a co-worker, I jokingly told her, "If whoever is my Secret Santa asks you what to get me, just tell 'em to get me $15 worth of Fig Newtons." It was good for a laugh. Little did I know that said co-worker would turn out to be my Secret Santa. So there I was Sunday night, as said co-worker handed me a big shoe-box wrapped with a gold ribbon. Having completely forgotten about my Fig Newton joke, I opened the box not knowing what to expect. Inside, among other goodies (look out for a future post extolling the deliciousness of pure maple sugar genuinely Canadian Maple Leafs) was a package of the genuine Nabisco Fig Newtons. Ah, how my jokes come back to me in cookies of superiority!

Damn these Newtons are good. So small yet so dense--in a good way. And to think I'm eating a cookie with "natural fruit"! It must even be good for me. And I'm no design expert, but the shape and look of the cookie, the more I consider it, it's pure art. Now Oreos, duh, are the Platonic ideal of cookies; I think we are all in agreement on that. But really, with Chips Ahoy kind of losing a certain magic since childhood for me, I gotta say the Fig Newton stands as Silver Medalist in the mass-produced, corporate cookie world. I mean, suddenly I feel like going out and buying some figs, and when was the last time you ever said that? I'm serious--indulge yourself today and go out and buy some Fig Newtons. You won't be sorry. I'm certainly not sorry I joked about Fig Newtons a few weeks ago, since the payoff is munching on them now. And to think I gave my giftee nothing but the new Tom Waits CD (nothing against Mr. Waits, I love him and all, but come on, a gravelly-voiced rabblerouser vs. near-perfection in a cookie? It's not even close.).

My only disappointment in this whole Fig lovefest is finding out that Fig Newtons are so called because the company that first mass-produced them, the Kennedy Biscuit Company, was located near Newton, Mass. (Fig Clevelands, anyone?) Kind of boring, especially when I was all set to wax paeans to some Col. Figacious T. Newton, a Civil War Hero from somewhere like Biloxi who loved his figs almost as much as his bourbon. Oh well, there's nothing fictitious about the culinary pleasure of Fig Newtons. So, yes Laura, there is a Santa Claus. My gratitude.