I'm a chef, cookbook author and mom of two. I should be eating well all the time. I don't.
No doubt there are many of you who know about cookie butter already, but in the event you don’t, prepare for me to change your entire freaking life. I am currently busy clearing out my inbox for the millions of thank-you emails I will no doubt receive for this. If you are at work, then throw on a light jacket to ensure your nipples are concealed, because they’re about to shoot out of your chest like rockets.
Picture peanut butter, but made out of cookies. Not peanuts. Freaking cookies.
I have no idea who invented cookie butter, but if I found them, I would give them such a deep, sloppy mouth kiss they would likely be ruined sexually for the remainder of their days. I know there are a few of you who immediately thought about me doing something really dirty with the cookie butter, but no. No. Cookie butter is far too precious to potentially be sullied with sweat or hair or errant body glitter. It must be enjoyed pure, celebrated for the wonder it is. (Could I incorporate it into personal fun time? Possibly. But probably not, because I have coordination problems.)
Cookie butter can be swirled into brownies, made into truffles and even sandwiched between other cookies for some Inception-style snacking. Once it’s in my possession, I don’t have the self-control to actually make any of those things, thus my status as an expert of eating it straight out of the jar.
The OG of the group. As the story goes, cookie butter was birthed by the holiest of institutions — reality television. It was entered into a Belgian competition show called The Inventors, discovered by the company that produces the actual cookies, and magic was made. Incredibly, this did not make the list of the top Belgian inventions of all time, bested by crap like roller skates and the internet.
Biscoff (Amazon, $8) is light and creamy, similar to a lower-end peanut butter that’s mostly filler and not remotely good for you. This is not a negative when it comes to cookie butter, because I’m not some moron who is lying to myself that this is a perfectly healthy alternative to nut butters (that’s right, Biscoff — you’re fooling nobody with that doozy). It goes down easy, like a minnow sliding down the gullet of a duck.
Netflix sessions it takes me to finish a jar: Two. Could get it done in one, but usually catch myself halfway through and stop before the shame sets in.
Manbake (Amazon, $22) bills itself as the world’s healthiest cookie butter, made with “real almonds, cashews, flax seeds, chia seeds and a heaping dose of protein,” so screw that crap.
Netflix sessions needed: Nope.
In researching for this article, I’ve learned that Roland isn’t a manufacturer but rather an importer of “superior quality specialty foods,” which is great news, because I had serious concerns about eating cookie butter from the same company that sells me my baby corn and tuna fish.
Flavorwise, Roland (Amazon, $7) isn't the strongest competitor in the field. Sure, it tastes like cookies, but cheap cookies, and being that cheap cookies are pretty sad, it makes you wonder why they couldn’t bother to try harder. It’s like they sent out an intern to product source, they grabbed some junk from Dollar General, then spent the rest of the afternoon chilling in a booth at Panera, playing Clash of Clans and abusing the free refill system.
On the positive side, it’s the richest of the lot. Ultra thick, a bit of texture from cookie bits, made to be chased with a large glass of whole milk. It’s by no means the Dom Pérignon of the cookie butter world, but it’s perfectly satisfying and gets the job done like a jug of Arbor Mist on a Thursday night.
Netflix sessions needed: Four. Heavy enough to be satisfying without going buck wild on it. Tastes exponentially better when eaten with a fork. Don’t ask me how this phenomenon works — you’re just going to have to trust me that it does.
I have absolutely nothing to say about this brand (Amazon, $9), because I tried it and am now dead from ecstasy. Take me now, Baby Jebus.
Netflix sessions needed: No Netflix. Me, this and some smooth jazz in a dark room are everything I’ve ever needed. Apologies to my husband.
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