September 14 was Black and White Cookie Day, and for my wife, this is not just a date on the calendar, this is a national holiday. If it were up to her, she would decree this day as an official holiday with all the pomp and circumstance itdeserves. It would be a day of reflection, of joy, and, most importantly, of honoring the majestic, perfect, and life-altering black and white cookie.

I must confess, I married an expert, a maven when it comes to black and white cookies. To say she’s a connoisseur is an understatement. You see, she doesn’t simply buy a black and white cookie the way most people would pick out a doughnut or grab a candy bar in the checkout line. No, my wife examines that cookie as if it holds the meaning of life. And, in her world, perhaps it does.

After she purchases a black and white cookie, it’s a ritual. The first thing she does is hold it up to the light. She inspects it from every angle. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was checking for fingerprints on a piece of evidence at a crime scene, or examining bacteria under a microscope. She examines the thickness of the cookie, checking its sponginess like someone conducting a scientific experiment. The desired texture should be achieved by ensuring it remains soft without becoming mushy, and firm without being overly dry.  It has to be the perfect balance between chewy and slightly cakey. No easy feat.

Then, and this is the part that really cracks me up, she looks at the frosting. The vanilla side has to be smooth, not too runny, not too thick. The chocolate side has to have that perfect sheen, not too shiny, but glossy enough to make it look decadent. It’s like she's evaluating the Mona Lisa, but instead of a painting, it's a dessert.

“Too much vanilla here,” she’ll say, pinching a bit of the frosting. “This side’s a little too thick. See? It’s uneven.”

It’s like she’s preparing for a Broadway star review, except the theater a bakery.  I’ll just be standing there, trying to keep up with her ritual, hoping that somehow the cookie won’t end up on the list of “unacceptable treats.” If it does, she’ll eat it anyway.

If she tells me the cookie is “okay,” it’s just okay. If she says it’s “not bad,” I know that’s a passable rating. It’s safe to say we don’t make it through a black and white cookie inspection without her passing judgment. But the rarest of rare moments is when she takes the first bite, closes her eyes, and lights up with a smile. “This,” she says, with that twinkle in her eye, “this is the black and white cookie the way a black and white cookie should be.” There’s a certain reverence in her voice when she says this. You’d think she was holding a holy relic. And for all I know, she might just be. Then I can relax.  I know that whatever other calamities life has in store for us that day, at least we got the cookie right. The world makes sense again. The heavens open up, and everything feels…well, perfect.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I enjoy cookies as well.  I do. But when it comes to me, my preferences tend to lean in a slightly different direction. If I had to choose between a black and white cookie and a scoop of ice cream (any flavor, really), I’d take the ice cream without hesitation. It’s simple, it’s refreshing, and it’s cold. What’s not to love? But for my wife? The black and white cookie is life.

If I had to give the black and white cookie a symbolic status, I would say that it’s not just a treat. It’s a healing elixir, a cross between Tylenol, an antibiotic, and Valium. Don’t laugh, it’s true. When she bites into the perfect black and white cookie, it’s as though the weight of the world falls away. All her stress, her worries, her minor aches and pains dissipate like smoke. It’s pure therapy. I’ve witnessed it. I’ve seen her go from mildly frustrated over something trivial. perhaps misplacing her keys or cell phone to a completely different person after just one bite of her beloved cookie.

She does more than simply eat the cookie.  She experiences it. She becomes one with it. It is, in that moment, a perfect fusion of mind, body, and dessert. She is at peace. She is in a state of  Black and White cookie-induced coma

I’ve always thought that God created the black and white cookie specifically for us. It’s too perfect, too comforting, to be a mere coincidence. I wouldn’t be surprised if, when Moses was handed the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai, he was also presented with the first black and white cookie. Picture it: Moses, holding the stone tablets with the commandments, but also clutching a sacred, slightly warm black and white cookie. It’s not hard to imagine, right?

Think about it.  To her, this is a cookie with balance. It’s got the delicate sweetness of the vanilla frosting, the deep richness of the chocolate. It is a symbol of harmony. The black and white cookie is like life itself: a little bit of sweetness, a little bit of richness, sometimes a little soft and squishy, and other times firm and satisfying. It is the cookie that teaches you to appreciate both the dark and the light aspects of life. There’s a divine wisdom in that, I’m convinced of it.

I’ve seen my wife look at a cookie and reflect on that balance, pondering the way the world should be. And when she finds a cookie that gets it right, I see her spirit lift. It’s as if the cookie, in its simplistic brilliance, has solved the world’s most complicated problem.