My husband has a theory about Oreos.

Having created the final, perfect cookie, the crafty bakers looked again at their recipe and revised it, only slightly, taking out a tad of something here, a smidgen of something there, just enough of this that the tongue, tasting the last crumb, would register a faint lack, would bid the hand back into the sack to bring up a new cookie, which undoubtedly would be . . . perfect.