Limited Edition White Fudge Covered Oreos & Awkward Mondays: Going to Hooters
Junk Food Nation, I’m a heterosexual male who loves cleavage. I’m just gonna come out and say it: I like cleavage and everything that goes with it. I’m like any other guy – I stare, I try not to stare, I look out of the corner of my eye, I pretend to be looking at my phone…it just happens. My eyes are drawn to it.
I say all this to set up the fact that I hate. Hate. HATE going to Hooters. Why? Because everything about Hooters is awkward.
(1) First of all, whenever a friend suggests going to Hooters, I cringe inside. I remember going to Hooters when I was in high school – my buddies and I would go, get some wings, and giggle like teenagers about the waitresses. I remember once buying a deck of Hooters playing cards and my buddies and I giggled it up using them to play Hearts in the back of a school bus. Good times.
But now? I just feel awkward going to Hooters. A friend could suggest going to a strip club or a yanky-cranky massage parlor and I’d feel less awkward. Because I associate Hooters with high school, my immediate reaction now, in my early 30’s, is “can we please go somewhere where we can at least PRETEND like we’ve slept with women before?”
(2) Second, if for some reason I end up going with them, there’s always some interaction with the bubbly waitress that leaves me wishing I was anywhere but there. Once, when the waitress sauntered up and asked, “Hey guys, how you all doing?” a friend of mine remarked, “Better…now that you’re here.” PLEASE GOD, SEND A BUS CRASHING THROUGH THE WALL AND PANCAKE ME. NOW. PLEASE.
Moreover, I’ve had friends suggest to the waitress in the past, “Hope you’re ready, because we’re the fun table!” Good lord, SHUT UP. First, “hope you’re ready?” What are we, the Ringling Brothers Circus? Is the waitress gonna come back over and we’re going to be doing Cirque de Soleil acrobatics and she’s gonna think, “WHOA I wasn’t ready for that.” Second, we’re “the fun table?” That’s a lot of pressure, and we are not that fun. Trust me.
More after the jump. today’s junk food: Limited Edition White Fudge Covered Oreos!
I literally walked by the cookie shelf in the Fresh & Greens Supermarket, and did a rubberneck when I saw these Limited Edition White Fudge Covered Oreos. They called out to me like a siren. Oreo already does a chocolate covered Oreo Fudge Cremes, which I’ve reviewed on this blog before…but White Fudge??? Holy moly.
Limited Edition White Fudge Covered Oreos are listed on Oreo’s website, and feature the best box cover I’ve ever seen. Plain and simple – its just an Oreo cookie getting dumped on with white chocolate. And then there are some shreds of unmelted white chocolate in the background. Goodness gracious.
Yeah, I’m a sucker for the words Limited Edition. Those two simple words…and the angels sing.
Limited Edition White Fudge Covered Oreos gets a little crazy with their combo suggestions. I think this would taste amazing, as I do like strawberry and chocolate mixed together…but let’s be honest. These cookies would be devoured while I was cutting the strawberries. I mean, really?
How is it possible that the serving size is ONE COOKIE. At LEAST regular Oreos have a serving size of TWO cookies — ONE COOKIE? What am I supposed to do with that? Stretch this box out for two effing weeks?
Limited Edition White Fudge Covered Oreos, when pulled out of the box, either resemble a tray of glazed hockey pucks or frosted donuts…I can’t decide.
Individually, these things were actually thick as hell. Heavy, too…the fudge was substantial, covering every inch of the cookie. Time to bite.
I’ll get to the taste in a minute, but where’s my creme filling! When I saw the profile shot of the bitten-open Oreo, and saw there were gaps unfilled by white creme, I have to admit I became a little angry. And you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.
The immediate taste was pretty amazing. The rich taste of white chocolate/fudge, sweet and creamy, which then mixed with the bitter taste of the chocolate cookie and the super sweet creme filling. It was sort of like eating an inside-out Oreo cookie, to be honest. Very sweet, but with a good texture and crunch. Sort of like a super creamy and extra chocolatey cookies n’ creme flavor.
The cookie fell apart pretty quickly though – the white fudge was actually pretty soft, and started to melt in my fingers as I held the cookie. The two halves then separated unexpectedly, leaving me with cookie pieces in my hand. No matter – I popped all the remaining chunks into my mouth. A great cookie – thumbs up Nabisco!
Back to my Hooters rant:
(3) It’s not a family restaurant. I know they say it is, but you know its not. It’s so awkward to see a family there – Dad’s eyeing the waitress, Mom’s eyeing the Dad, the daughter is eyeing future job possibilities and the son is excusing himself to use the bathroom. Seriously? I once saw a kid who must’ve been like 10years old celebrating his birthday there, and all the waitresses came out to sing him Happy Birthday. Talk about weird – seven or eight busty women singing Happy Birthday to an awkward adolescent kid while drunk dudes are laughing and shouting obscenities in the background during the song. Happy Birthday to all of us, kid.
(4) Inevitably, when the bill comes, one of the guys in your group thinks if he leaves a big tip, maybe the waitress will like him. Dude, this isn’t a gentleman’s club, and she’s not gonna give you her number because you threw down 19% as opposed to your typical 15%. Have some dignity. Or some wings. Either. Just knock it off.
(5) Hooters wings are not good, and not good for you. Yeah, this has nothing to do with being awkward. I’ve just had plenty of time spent in the bathroom after going to a Hooters…and it wasn’t because I was feeling frisky. Trust me.
Look, am I above all this? Of course not. This is not a blog post disparaging Hooters. If I’m in the mood, I can be just as gregarious and as awkward as I’ve described in each of the above situations. If you wanna go to Hooters, I’ll go with and I won’t be the buzzkill, I promise. Unless you refer to us as “the fun table.” I’m sorry, that’s where I draw the line. We could be at Chuck E. Cheese or Dave and Busters, and it is still NOT OK to refer to us as the “fun table.” I will punch you in the face.
Sincerely, Junk Food Guy