Forget Pants, I’m Just Giving Up.

When you think about it, everything is blending into a melange of on par these days.  I mean, not just in terms of fall, although everything will soon be fading into a state of mushy browns and gray, but everyone.

Think about it.  Before you knew what this thing called a BBS or an internet was (providing you were actually born before 1990), things far away seemed exotic.  Texan accent?  Exotic.  Mission style burritos, exotic.  That one kid in your school whose mom was from New York and named him SalvaTORE, not SalvaDOR even though all your classmates had never been past Idaho.  You get the idea.  Since we were really only connected by letters and phone calls, card catalogs and books, there was a touch of distinction to our regional backgrounds.  Now I can order Cheerwine by the case without leaving my chair.

So I showed up late to the game on one of New York’s old school food stuff, but I’m tickled to see how many people here go ape poop over them about now.  Mallomars.  Tiny hockey pucks of graham and marshmallow depicted with luscious dark chocolate flowing over, they’re only available to shove in your mouth half of the year.  Move over pumpkin bender, you’ve got a serious contender for the season.

I noticed these little puffs in the grocery store the other day while hungrily shopping and decided that now was the time for some investigative journalism.  The whole wall seemed to be an endless brick structure of yellow boxes that were moving fast, so I had to jump into the game.  Along with my other questionable moment of hunger choices (green olives and licorice allsorts?  Really?), I happily ran home to see what the fuss was about.  I opened up the box, pried open the airtight chamber and…

SWEET BABY JESUS THESE COOKIES WERE THE REASON FOR LIFE WORTH LIVING.

Here’s the thing.  Mallomars aren’t overly sweet.  The airiness of the overall cookie floated on my tongue and between my teeth just so.  The graham cookies had long since gone soft and crumbly and the chocolate shell was nothing but a wisp, but they just worked together perfectly.  They were just enough to say that it was sweet, it was going to be okay until my next meal.  These were my new jam of the week.  But why couldn’t I get them all the time?  Was it to save me from a life of a shut in, surrounded by empty safety yellow boxes?

No.  Its all in the history of the cookie.

Mallomars aren’t revolutionary in the cookie world.  Marshmallow cookies have been produced for hundreds of years, dating back to Denmark in the early 19th century (at least).  All over the world people have their own varieties of marshmallow cookies, which vary in size and shape and perhaps slightly in texture.  For example, in Scotland you can get Tunnock’s Teacakes after a blood transfusion any time of year.  (Tunnock’s features a shortbread base and Italian meringue.)  In Israel, you’d be in the market for a Krembo when you wanted a marshmallow cookie, which are oftentimes seen as a wintertime alternative to ice cream.  Germans love their schokokus cookies, domed high with marshmallow and not so much cookie.  They’re ubiquitous, the UN of snacks.

Although marshmallow cookies are common all over the world, we obviously don’t have the same climate everywhere.  So when Nabisco started rolling out the Mallomar in 1913 regionally, it was seen as a fall and winter cookie because the fragile chocolate shell wouldn’t stand up to the brutal heat of the New York metropolitan area summer.  Although these days the Mallomar production line is actually based in Toronto (not known for its searing temperatures), the tradition stuck and now people have to just make do with what they can get from October until April.

However, there is an upside to this (speaking of Canada).  As mentioned before, marshmallow cookies aren’t regionally unique and the little Nabisco ones are made by our neighbors to the north.  If you head straight up from New York, way up to the tippy top, way beyond the Baseball Hall of Fame and the Finger Lakes, a long drive beyond the short A accents, then you’re going to hit Montreal- home of the Whippet.  Whippets, unlike Mallomars, are produced all year round because it’s not as hot up there in the summer.  So, if you’re in a bind for a few months, you have options.

Anyways, Nabisco claims that 70% of the domestic Mallomar consumption is actually from the New York metropolitan area.  (I’m assuming the other 30% is a melange of Pennsylvania and Florida.)  The first box of Mallomars ever sold according to MY Mallomar box say that it happened in West Hoboken, New Jersey.  As the cookies don’t really ship that well due to their delicate nature, they stayed a regional favorite since that first sale in ‘Boken as they are today.  Until 1930, we even had a Nabisco factory in Chelsea, ensuring their local status of the Mallomar.  Personally, I cannot recall ever having seen them west of the Mississippi at any time in my life ever, so I guess it must be true.

Anyways, now that I’ve been exposed to the world of marshmallow cookies, my life is forever changed.  No longer will I be content with a clunky, heavy s’more.  My once favorite Moon Pie has simply become a sliver of what it once was in the night sky.  I have begun to seriously consider the muu-muu lifestyle, free to let my hips widen with every box of pillowy goodness from now until April.

Damn you Nabisco, damn you to hell.