A few months ago, I was tending to my newborn when across the room my phone pinged. I ignored it. Within a few minutes, however, continuing to do so became impossible, not just because of my compulsive urge to touch my phone every four seconds, but also because the device was seized by such a frenzy of notifications it threatened to buzz right off my dresser.
A wave of anxiety swept over me as I opened the kindergarten moms’ exploding group text—please, not more head lice.
But no! This was a good group-text freak-out. It was the call of America’s most beloved (nonprofit) multi-level marketing scheme.
One of my son’s classmates was selling Girl Scout cookies.
I loaded the order form and promptly set aside all New Year’s resolutions. It had been years since I’d had Girl Scout cookies, and my older two sons had yet to try them. I added my favorites to the cart, and then my eyes fell on the newest addition to the cookie lineup, Exploremores.
As advertised, the Exploremores seemed promising: a sandwich cookie inspired by rocky road ice cream. “Filled with the delicious flavors of chocolate, marshmallows, and toasted almond-flavored crème.” Why not? Sold!
Ordering cookies brought me back to my own days as a wee Brownie, in which I (my mother) also once solicited cookie orders from our Rolodex of family, friends, and susceptible acquaintances. When the cookies arrived, I (my mother) meticulously sorted the inventory to fulfill the orders, then I (my mother) drove around delivering them and collecting wads of one-dollar bills to raise money for the much-hyped Disney World trip that I (not my mother) would get to enjoy.
Alas, selling only two dozen boxes of cookies left the Disney World trip about 1,976 boxes out of reach. Still, along the way, I gained some “valuable life skills,” like outreach, customer service, and how to cope with the disappointment of not getting to meet Mickey Mouse in person.
With the order placed, I forgot about the cookies and life lessons until several weeks later, when my kindergartner came home with a fabulously large bundle from his school friend.
My family ate dinner quickly, anticipating the cookies. The table cleared, I picked up the package of Exploremores—a springy blush pink box, emblazoned with a photo of three Girl Scouts lounging and laughing on a blanket in the grass. I unwrapped a column of dark chocolate cookies and removed the top one, examining its rounded ends and running my thumb over the embossed edge of the Girl Scout trefoil symbol in the center.
My sons watched eagerly as I arranged personal samplers of four cookies in the same trefoil shape—a Tagalongs, a Thin Mints, a Samoas, and an Exploremores cookie.
My chocoholic children went first for their Exploremores, but each set them back down after taking a bite. My three-year-old made a face. Out of the mouths of babes—literally. But they were undeterred, inhaling the remaining classic cookies. When they left the table, their dessert plates were clear but for the waning crescent of an Exploremores with one bite removed.
My husband finished his, but described the flavor as “chemical.” As I separated the circular sandwich and scraped the crème off the top cookie with my teeth, I had the same thought. The “almond” in “almond-flavored” was doing some heavy lifting. The aftertaste possessed something approximating marshmallow.
Overall, I found the cookie nostalgic but cheap—disappointing for a devourer of both sandwich cookies and ice cream. It reminded me of other cheap cocoa cookies from the snack aisle, but without the cute, tiny teddy bear shape. In a world where Oreos have been Double Stuf (sic) for over half a century, and Mega Stuf (sic) for thirteen years, the too-fine film of almond-flavored crème made me question whether the Girl Scout cookie team was all that committed to the crème.
About a week later, when my favorite Thin Mints were expended, but my insatiable desire for cookies was not, I eyed the half-eaten sleeve of Exploremores in the freezer. I was bummed that they hadn’t lived up to their promise—but my sweet tooth won out. As I bit into a chilled cookie, I found to my surprise that this time I could taste the tribute to rocky road. Freezing the cookie had made it impossible to divorce the ensemble, and experiencing it altogether that time, I could appreciate the whole. In fact, I appreciated that cookie so much I ate them all up—whole and dissected; frozen and room temp; dry, out of the package, and soggy, dunked in milk.
In the end, “Exploremores” turned out to be the perfect name—I just needed to look past my first impression and explore more.