Perfectly Black and White

On the confectionary chain of being, the black-and-white cookie is king.  I have travelled the world, sampling sweets from pistachio Turkish Delight in Istanbul’s Spice Market to Ladurée’s pastel-colored macaroons on the Champs-Elysees.  I have savored many a sundae drenched with Ghirardelli’s famous fudge, and stood in line for an hour at Modern Pastry in Boston’s North End for the perfect fresh-filled cannoli.  But given a choice, I would select the iconic half-chocolate-half-vanilla-glazed cookie that is really a tiny cake.  And I would choose it every time.

It is hard to know if the sensory joy I feel from a black and white cookie is a vestige of my childhood or if it derives from its balanced perfection.  All I know is that my husband, who never heard of black and white cookies until he married me, is a willing co-conspirator in any effort to procure the binary bite.  We have faux arguments over which side is better; I fight on behalf of chocolate while my husband defends vanilla.  In truth, we agree that G-d’s plan for this cookie is prescient, as choosing either flavor to dominate would diminish its glory.

So now that I have confessed my weakness for the black-and-white, I must explain how rare it is to find a truly authentic and accomplished one.  Not all black-and-whites are created equal.  In fact, the market is glutted with black-and-white mediocrity--containers boasting visually promising incarnations that turn out to be imposters, posers, or just plain bad.  Even good kosher bakeries can harbor frightfully bad examples slathered with thick chocolate and vanilla frosting.  Just because they are half chocolate and half vanilla does not mean that they are true black-and-white cookies. 

A good black and white cookie starts under the icing.  ‘Cookie’ is a misnomer.  It is not a crunchy, crumbly cookie but rather a soft pillowy cake redolent of vanilla and a whiff of citrus.  Imagine if you scooped chiffon batter onto a cookie sheet and baked it, allowing it to spread slightly and puff in the middle.  It should have a similar consistency to the now defunct “Twinkie.”  But the defining characteristic of a black-and-white is the icing.  It is a translucent sugary glaze that hardens to a shiny dry crack.  The final product is a marriage of hard and soft.  A true black-and-white cookie fractures on top when it is bitten, then bends underneath with gentle elasticity.

When the urge escalates, there are reasonable mini black-and-whites distributed to Costco stores nationwide, where they sit for weeks and weeks until they just pass their expiration dates.  Whole Foods also imports a very good specimen from New York, also in the ‘mini’ size.  The black-and-whites from my childhood are the size of my full hand, spanning at least 5 or 6 inches in diameter.

On my quest for the perfect black and white there have been many red herrings.  Once, while strolling through Greenwich Village I came face to face with beautiful array of cookies in a bakery window.  My husband suggested that we duck inside for a “coffee,” which, of course, is code for pastry.  I ordered one of the black-and-whites that called to me from the window.  It arrived looking perfect in every way, but after the first bite I nearly cried.  It was an Italian bakery, and they had spiked the unsuspecting cookie with anise flavoring.  It was as heinous as dropping a vanilla bean in a pot of matzoh ball soup.

Then, a few years ago, I found it:  black-and-white nirvana.  Up in Morningside Heights, near the Columbia University campus, is a café-bakery called Nussbaum and Wu.  They produce the last remaining authentic rendition of black-and-white cookies in the free world.  I discovered these cookies with a chance encounter, an afterthought tagged onto a late lunch.  After feasting on a delectable disk, I went back inside and bought all the black-and-whites left on display.

Nussbaum and Wu has become a pilgrimage for us—a necessary stop on every trip to New York City.  Last year we arrived in New York by train.  Without a car at our disposal, we endured a $60 cab ride uptown and back for a box of cookies to bring back to Boston.  Today we stopped at their store at 113^th and Broadway on our way out of town.  When there was a street parking spot in front of the door, we knew it was meant to be.  I apologize to anyone who came in after me for one of Nussbaum and Wu’s amazing black-and-whites.   I took them all.