On religious experiences

Ben’s Cookies, the famed cookie stand within Oxford’s Covered Market, is a staple in the otherwise relatively bland diet of famished students. Yet another example of the excellence and achievement found at Oxford, the shop has received  praise from tour books and students alike, rivals the popularity of Moo Moo’s milkshake stand in colorfully calorific euphoria. Where else will you be able to find Triple Chocolate, Double Chocolate, Milk Chocolate, Oatmeal and Raisin (the healthy alternative… it’s oats, people, like breakfast, only better!) Chocolate and Orange, Coconut, Cranberry and White Chocolate, Praline and Milk Chocolate… and more? Pair that with a Moo Moos milkshake or smoothie and you won’t have to eat for days.

But did I doubt the hype? Admittedly, yes. Having been less than impressed with other reputed gastronomic experiences such as Coffee Cake, Banoffee (yes, that’s Bannana + Toffee), and plum jam,  I definitely questioned the veracity of the palates.

I was advised to be sure that the cookie was to be served “warm” ie. meaning out of the oven within the past few minutes. Greeting with a query, the Ben’s apron-clad server asked, “a’iight if it’s hot?” “Perfect” I replied. And perfect might be the understatement of the century. My White Chocolate chunk cookie was so hot/fresh from the oven, that it could only be eaten with a spoon, transporting me into a haze of gastronomic bliss as I wandered through Covered Market on my brief (ie. 16 minute), but glorious, study break.

The saint who handed me the small white Ben’s Cookies bag (a creator of such a delicacy should only be referenced with a bowed head) bid me a good afternoon. As I walked away, I peered cautiously into the bag, and seeing only 96 grams of dough and white chocolate chips (you are charged by weight), I carefully extracted a corner of the hot cookie. And thus, the deliciousness ensued. The warm, buttery, perfectly baked cookie melted, not crumbled, into my mouth as the vanillas and butters in the dough declared their presence. Just as my mouth began to accommodate these fantastic new flavors, the first  white chocolate chip miraculously appeared. Chocolate chip, it is necessary to clarify for discerning readers, is inaccurate, as it was a full mouthful of chocolate chunks that promised edible happiness. Thus, with the swirls of vanilla, butter, a hint of sugar, and a white chocolate cube, I consumed my first bite of a Ben’s Cookie and proceeded to slowly inhale the exterior diameter of the entire cookie, until my cookie was reduced by an inch around. Speaking of inhalation, the smell of that warm cookie emanating from the bag was the scent of my childhood, sitting in the kitchen as trays of fresh brownies and cookies were removed from the ovens, sending the sweetest perfume of sugar and flour and chocolate into the air, promising mouthwatering delight, comfort, bliss, joy, and family.

Although I’d significantly reduced my Ben’s Cookie, that central 3 inch circle of heaven could not be eaten by breaking off pieces, not that I didn’t want to, but that it simply was not possible. My cookie was so hot and so fresh from the oven, that the white chocolate chunks had utterly liquefied, promising pure happiness, if I could only find a spoon!

Thusly armed, utensil in expectant (and crumb-dusted) fingers, I extracted a single spoonful, eating out of the bag, letting the melting cookie fall into my mouth, as I sank back into the glorious euphoria of a truly sacred experience. And then I glanced down to an empty bag, assuming that as images miraculously appear, so do they disappear, leaving us mortals with blessed memories, and visions in their evanescence.

As such, it's back to the trenches of papers to write, books to read, and authors to quote … with the empty Ben’s Cookies paper bag to remind me of that blessed brush with grace.

May God save the Queen, and Ben’s Cookies,
ej

Covered Market, Oxford