Few phrases are as entirely look-back-over-the-shoulder sexy as "blackstrap molasses."
Molasses, you see, is the sexy librarian of ingredients.
Delineate each sound, sort and classify and reach:
But once tipped to the pelvic shelf of the spoon's bowl, once come completely undone, Molasses, like nothing else, comes racing down the sides all crazy, spirals snaking furiously foreward and back on themselves and picking up speed past catching-without-overflow, till suddenly, you're looking down to find you're licking your fingers surrepetitiously in broad daylight, grinning like a dope, thinking,
Speaking of "broad," that's Molasses: a shape of a flavor we're unused to today--a little out-of-favor, a little out of practice, but fully recognizable. Cracked Molasses is the 40's pin-up girl of cookies, an archetypical beauty, but not everyone's flavor...
Make no mistake, these are not your grandmother's cookies, or perhaps, they are--which is to say, you might have had them and "remember them," with something of a falling sensation.
And that space between, my friends, is precisely the slightly bitter & indefinable taste we are hunting here: