Sprinkle Delight

Kate at age 5

When I was a little girl my mother would take me shopping at Oak Park mall.  I hated shopping- looking at grown up clothes to a 5 year old is about as boring as watching paint dry.  The only thing this mall had going for it, in my opinion, was a small kiosk called The Cookie Factory. 

Every trip to the mall was another chance to get my hands on one of those Sprinkle Delight cookies.  The kiosk was right next to the entrance, which meant that I had two chances of getting that cookie – on the way in, or on the way out.

On the days that started with cookie in hand (on the way in), I would sit quietly in my purple stroller and munch away in total ecstasy.  The mall and all of its mundane rows and rows of clothing stores melted away into a rainbow of brightly colored sprinkles.  My mother would shop in peace.

On the days that started without the cookie – you couldn’t strap me into that damn stroller if your life depended on it.  I would run and hide among the circle racks of department store clothes until a clerk found me and the mad search was called off and my poor exasperated mother could breathe a sigh of relief.   

On the days that ended with cookie in hand (on the way out), I would sit in the backseat of the car on the drive home in utter bliss.  All was right in the world.

On the days that ended without the cookie, disaster.

Before I go on, let me explain.  A Sprinkle Delight cookie was a gigantic sugar cookie with white frosting and a boatload of sprinkles.  Rainbow kind – you know what I’m talking about – every child’s fantasy.  This cookie affected me so much as a child that I have decided to dedicate my first blog post to a story about this tasty treat.

On one fateful trip to the mall, as we were leaving, I ran ahead and pressed my little nose to the big glass case full of Sprinkle Delights.  It was a little bit too close to dinner time for my mother to be persuaded to get me this giant cookie doused in sprinkles - she said no.

I flipped the F out.  I’m talking major meltdown. 

This was the kind of tantrum that made everyone within a 100 foot radius stop and stare. 

Moms reading this, I’m sure, can relate.  Later on, when I was 18 with a 4 year old brother, I got a taste for the public tantrum in a target once - not cool.   

Giant tears fell as my mother led me out of the mall in shame.  But the drama did not stop there, the entire ride home I remember screaming and kicking in my little seat until my mother uttered the words “wait until your father gets home."  I knew I was in trouble.

My dad, who is the sweetest man alive, was much more intimidating when I was 3 feet tall.  In my 5 year old mind, Dad was “supreme ruler."  In my 16 year old mind, he was more like “suggestion maker."

By the time we pulled into the driveway, my tears subsided and my mind was going a mile a minute.  Dad was always home for dinner, dinner was almost here – that meant I only had a small amount of time.  I had to skip town.

My mom told me to go to my room, which I did and slammed the door closed for dramatic effect.  I sat down on the carpet, planning my next move.  My mind was made up, I was running away.  Far away, to a place filled with whatever cookie I wanted - no more of this dinner crap.

So I grabbed my hot pink Mini Mouse suitcase.  I tip-toed downstairs into the kitchen, and while my mom was busy over the stove, I snatched a full loaf of wheat bread from the pantry – a girl’s gotta eat.  I put the loaf in my suitcase and zipped it up.  I spent the next few minutes giving all my stuffed animals’ hugs goodbye and headed for the door.

I walked across the street to our neighbor’s yard.  It was a gorgeous summer afternoon.  I sat on their driveway, still determined that this was for the best.  I walked a few feet away toward my playmate’s house.  My thoughts started to turn.  Maybe I wasn’t that prepared, I mean, how long could a loaf of bread last?  Where would I poop?  How would I poop after eating all that bread?  So many uncertainties.

I decided to head home.  I walked back in the house and dropped my suitcase.  I came over to my mom still cooking and hugged her legs.  I told her I was sorry.  She picked me up and kissed my tear stained cheeks.  She set me on the counter and made me a big  glass of extra chocolaty milk.  I guess it wasn't a total loss, maybe I’ll get that cookie next time.

I went back to that mall as an adult to find the kiosk gone.  All I have now are my memories.  So, I have decided to re-create the Sprinkle Delight cookie.  I'll post this recipe later on.

Katie Pop! version of the Sprinkle Delight Cookie