As a kid growing up in a small community, my friends and I would make our rounds early Purim morning, skipping excitedly down Kingston Avenue, our bags overflowing with shalach manos. There was always someone who delivered a bottle of chocolate milk and a danish, or better yet, some milk and cookies. Taffy and candies weren’t my thing, but cookies? Cookies were special. I’d rip open the shiny cellophane and dig right in to the perfect Purim breakfast.