I have never stopped ordering it.

I still remember that frightful afternoon years ago when I learned that the Cheesy Gordita Crunch (CGC) was going to be discontinued from the Taco Bell menu. Why, I thought, would they end the reign of such a delicious and fulfilling item, arguably their best non-burrito creation? Weeks went by without at trip to the Bell, as my desire vanished like the cheesy middle between the hard and soft shell tacos, until one day I decided to venture back. Out of habit, and possibly scorn, I presented my order as usual: One chalupa, one gordita and one cheesy gordita crunch.  The staff shuffled as normal and produced my order, not missing a beat.

Elated I devoured my food and spread the word to everyone I knew. Subsequent trips followed suit and it wasn’t until a manager handled my order that I understood the reason why my orders weren’t rejected.  I presented my selection and he smiled as he punched in the order.

“Ya know,” he started, “I have to make this for you even though we don’t have it on the menu anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“As long as there is this button on the register, I have to make it for you.”  His smile changed to something more sinister as he pointed to a button that I couldn’t see and kept bobbing his hand up and down just long enough to make it uncomfortable, like this button was the reason his girlfriend left him and he still lived with his parents.

“Well I’m glad that button still exists.”

He passed me my receipt with a look of disdain and I hurriedly stepped to the fountain drink machine, out of arms length. There I waited for the deliciousness to come, hoping that he didn’t secretly blame Mountain Dew for killing his goldfish.

As good as the sandwiches are from the Shoppe, it couldn’t beat out my favorite spot, stay tuned to find out where you can get the best sandwich in New York City.

I once heard that someone ate 6 in a single sitting. I also heard that you can shoot a flaming shot of Sambuca without burning yourself, or that water slides can’t possibly cause you bodily harm. And Unicorns like to Salsa.

Neither a fan of Honey or Dijon, I decided to try my taste buds with something out of the ordinary that I’ve never thought about trying before. As a bonus, I surprised myself by ordering jalapeno peppers for my sandwich on accident. I was too involved stuffing my face with flavor and sweating to focus on what Randy was saying, and let me tell you, what he says is outrageous 98% of the time.

I offered him some of the chips out of the goodness of my heart, because sharing something this good I realized is not easy to do. He also fell in love with them. We continued catching up, sharing stories about our lives since we had last seen each other, enjoying the new found discovery of chip satisfaction.

All I had to do was present the email to them when I wanted a free smoothie. It was 3:05. I printed out a copy for me, printed out a different color copy for another friend, then xeroxed that for another. Like any good promotion, I liked to  take advantage of the company enjoy it with other people.

We walk over and show our obviously valid emails, imagining all the delicious flavors and which ones we were going to pick. The manager does one take at our coupons and is completely unimpressed.

“That is only the picture.”

“That is a copy of the picture.”

“That is an incomplete email.”

Really? I can understand the copies, as I now see the fine print explicitly denies them, but mine? I had a legitimate coupon that I printed from Gmail. I was on the damn eClub. I asked what was so unconvincing about my print out.

“You need a header” she said, retrieving a good, honest, hard working print out, “like this.”

Boring, I thought, I am the friggin IT guy, I’ll just go back, print it out and photoshop ones for my friends. Then my procrastination kicked in real hard and good, so I attempted one last maneuver before I conceded that my smoothie coupon was not valid.

I looked her in the eyes and did my best blue-eyed-puppy-dog-wants-a-smoothie look. Up until now I have never seen the I-work-at-a-whore-house-which-serves-sandwiches-and-I-wish-I-were-dead stare.

To start things off the packaging is entirely deceiving. It reminded me of when I used to pack a sock in my tighty whitey’s before middle school. I always thought cane juice was a pleasant alternative to normal sugar, but the taste is all to familiar of the time I accidently bit into an actual cane when I tripped over my grandmother a couple weeks ago. I googled arrowroot just to see what it was, and disappointingly discovered it wasn’t in fact made from Native Americans. I questioned if there were even chocolate chips and not pieces of black cardboard in the admittedly soft, yet unsatisfying rectangle of product. If I wanted to eat healthy I wouldn’t be eating a brownie. I’m glad it’s 75% organic and all, but is it too much to expect the remaining 25% to make up some taste?

This past week we had a catered meeting and I prepared for myself a plentiful bouquet of food. After all I set up the projector. I long ago abandoned my hesitation about taking loads of food so it was an internal competition to see how much food I could fit on two plates. Let’s talk about the cookies.

The lowest level, god forbid you have to eat them, is the sugar cookie. Boring, bland and mundane, it’s the simplest of all cookie treats who has been shadowed by the more substantial and intoxicating of cookies. It’s the old woman of the cookie family who lives down the street with all the cats, the one that has seen what a zeppelin actually looks like in person. It’s rare to see the sugar cookie in public anymore just as it is rare to see the old woman drive more than 5mph anywhere.

The next in line is oatmeal raisin. Every manual on dessert stipulates the inclusion of this sub-par cookie within the mix of other superior cookies and if I were in any position of power I would eradicate this waste of sugar and flour and spend my resources funding renewable solar energy companies. To make more flour. To make better cookies.

Bring on the delicious. The chocolate chip cookie. The m14 of the cookie arsenal, the foundation upon which all other cookies are created. You’ll find it everywhere and with very good reason: it is almost always satisfying. My chocolate chip cookie satisfaction rate is approaching 91% which is extremely high for anything really. Only Taco Bell has eclipsed the 95% approval mark. I was destroyed when McDonald’s and Subway did away with their 3 for a $1 cookie deal because surprisingly they both make a damn good cookie. You can always count on a selection of these on any cookie platter.

But the grand daddy of all cookies is the double chocolate chip, or what I like to call the ultimate conference cookie. Soft, moist and succulent, a balance of white chocolate chips and divine chocolate dough, it combines the best of the brownie and cookie worlds into a divine extravaganza for your mouth. They have been known to heal the deepest of wounds, cure heart break and drive you into an ecstasy of joy that tingles your entire being. Well maybe not that extreme but they are damn delicious.

The cookie manufacturers must know this and intentionally only include no more than 4 ultimates into any one dessert selection. There is always more oatmeal raisin then chocolate chip. If you are at a conference at say Yale or Oxford I’m entirely confident they have all sorts of stupid cookies like snicker doodles, lemon tea cakes and organic flour-less poppyseed dingle berries. No thanks. I have the courage to punch average in the face and take the 3 ultimates back to my office thank you very much.