My self confessed foodie friend (and who my mom always said would make everything taste great just by her endorsement) introduced me to The Cookie. It was just another Saturday spent strolling along the Bay Area and walking across the Golden Gate Bridge then dinner at the Cheesecake Factory when she said we should stop by Bristol Farms at Market street to try the (in)famous cookie. I’d have to say, it ruined all cookies for me and I wished I bought more to take back to Vancouver.

This time around, in between short hikes and long drives to Yosemite and Lake Tahoe, I decided (come hell or high water) that I’m going to take a dozen cookies back with me. Since I’m staying at Shing’s pad in San Jose, going to the cookie store means an hour and a half drive to Ria’s place in Millbrae then another hour ride at the ear splitting BART.

Ria said I should think real hard and make sure it’s worth it because it’s definitely out of the way. However, I already said my promises, so skipping the cookie was definitely out of the question.

Sometimes in life, it’s so easy to just blurt out words without thinking about the follow throughs. Often, people make empty vows and half meant jokes (like politicians these days) and then pass them out as nothing more than fairy tales and parables to fill up idle time.

I’m definitely not one of those people who spews out words without meaning. Words are sacred to me. I’m a sucker for a well written prose. I always try to mean what I say and say what I mean, and I do my best to keep my promises.

So yeah, I’m sure this isn’t the best cookie in the world, and it’s probably not healthy either, but then sometimes it’s not the actual thing that matters but rather the journey to get it.

This is surely one of those cookie stories that will go down in history.