1766 Fortune Ate

In pursuit of my goal to write a marginally entertaining 300-word essay about something absolutely mundane and trivial, I offer the following. An examination of fortune cookie packaging.
Not the cookie itself, certainly known for both triviality and mundanity. Bland to an extreme. Mildly sweet and completely unthreatening and controversial, to either tastebuds or diet. Unless you're allergic to gluten.
Nor the fortune within it, also as non-controversial as possible these days, offering either vague reassuring platitudes or worthless predictions. My favorite: "You will have a surprise soon."
Well not anymore...
Sometimes a fortune cookie needs a spoiler alert.
No, I'm going to talk about the cellophane package. Mine features a cookie under the brand name "foookies," with, for some reason, three o's. Perhaps fookie spelled like cookie with two o's means something risqué in Chinese.
Dude, let's go grab a piece of fookie.
You'll feel fortunate to know your average fortune cookie contains "enriched" wheat flour, which is cereal-box loaded with the traditional Chinese herbal fivesome of folic acid, niacin, iron, riboflavin, and thiamin.
I'm not sure what thiamine is. It always reminds me of that weird electronic instrument Brian Eno plays.
The cookie, excuse me foookie, also contains soy lecithin. You can't have anything without lecithin these days, from lubricants to paint. Emulsifier, surfactant, it gets around. I may grind up my cookies and use them to patch the wall or do the laundry.
But it is also sourced in two of the potential allergens listed on the package, soy and eggs.
As far as nutritional qualities listed, you need not worry. Everything from minerals to vitamins to cholesterol were identified as zero. And just 20 calories from pure wheat-bound sugar.
22, if you count that soy stuff.
Because dare I say it? Lecithin is more.
America, ya gotta love it.