A genius died yesterday. No, not Dio, but the man who put my two favorite desserts together and charged $2.50 for it: Mr. Chipwich, Richard LaMotta.

At its core, the Chipwich is the best of the simplistic sugar bombs. Some will argue that the cupcake holds this distinction, but I believe these people have been brainwashed. The media, The Man, the hipster in the cutesy cupcake truck have made you believe that these dainty little cakes were the treats of your childhood. But how often did you really have a cupcake? Once, twice a year at a birthday party? Or did you just long for them because they were adorable and colorful and icing is awesome? And even back then, once you licked the icing, didn’t you immediately become disinterested? You knew that what was left in the flimsy paper “cup” sucked. And it still sucks. 

The Chipwich on the other hand is good all over. You don’t stop in the middle. Even the ice cream drippings on your fingers are lickable. Plus, there’s an underdog component: a chocolate chip perimeter.

Critics will say the Chipwich is prepackaged and tastes like freezerburn. I say, then take those principles and make one yourself! Mismatch a peanut butter cookie with a chocolate-dipped shortbread if you like, and plop some ice cream in the middle. Hell, go meta and use cookie dough ice cream! Or splay cookies n’ cream between two Oreos! What about ice cream-sandwich sandwiches! The possibilities are endless!

With cupcakes however, even if you make best batter in the world, dye it red and call it chocolate, in the end, all you still have is an uneventful cake sponge.

Yes, yes, sure, cupcakes are branded to induce smiling. Their size makes you feel like it’s okay to be decadent, whereas eating both a hunk of ice cream and cookies incites guilt. (Two desserts today = iceberg lettuce for lunch tomorrow.) But that’s no excuse; you can make an ice cream sandwich hip and petite too.

However, you can’t make a cupcake end on a good note. (Maybe someone should invent upside-down cupcakes, or icing sandwiches, so there’s a satisfying finish.)

My point is (seven graphs later) that I won’t be swayed with faux nostalgia. Maybe your mother made cupcakes, but mine believed in pit stops at the corner store. And between her and Mr. LaMotta, I’ve maintained a straight and loyal path.