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I go a little crazy when I find something I really like. Be it a man, strange species of bird, a film, pair of thigh huggers, or a new friend, I consume it to death: usually until it is no longer able to breathe. Ex-boyfriends call it smothering, frienemies label it stalking, and marketers see me as a wet dream. You see, when I’m into something, I am absolutely, 100 billion per cent, into it.

About three months ago, on a trip to Amsterdam, I went wild over stroopwafels. I knew it as soon as I had my first bite. Thin wafer sandwiches filled with a layer of creamy, sugary, melted caramel, which oozes out as you tear into them, they could very well be the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. As soon as I’d finished, my friend Clara, the angel who introduced me to this wonder cookie, took me to raid Holland’s supermarkets for more.

I’ve been in this predicament before. And I’m in danger of overdoing it again. In the late ‘90s it was chu-toro (medium fatty tuna) sushi. I had it every day, sometimes twice. I had so much of it my doctor told me to stop, or my eyes would turn yellow from iodine poisoning. In school it was sugar-free chewing gum – to this day I can’t put a piece of gum in my mouth. I fear the same fate will befall stroopwafels. That’s why I decided to ration them. I had one each morning with a cup of tea and that was it. At this rate, I figured it should be about two months before I had to make another trip to the Netherlands.

Four weeks later and my supply was already running low. That’s when I heard a rumour that Starbucks carried stroopwafels under the disguised name of caramel cookies. I went everywhere looking for them. I visited 52 stores, from the Mid-Levels to Mei Foo, with no luck. Finally I called Starbucks HQ, begging them to tell me where I could find them, but they explained Hong Kong’s humidity melted the caramel cookies, so they had been yanked from every branch. My world collapsed around me.

Finally, during a weekender in Seoul, I found the heaven-sent cookies at a Starbucks in Chosun. Out of all the amazing Korean cuisine I could’ve eaten, all I could dream of was stoopwafels. My passion had become an unhealthy addiction.

I could only carry so many back from my trip. Every morning, I would ask myself if today was a double stroopwafel day. One evening, my friend Brian came around, rampaged through my fridge, and pulled out my secret stash. “Can I have one?” he said rhetorically, as he started unravelling the twist tie. My first thoughts were: is this guy cookie worthy? Is my friendship with him that important? My response was immediate: “How about I go to 7-11 to buy you some cookies instead? Or Mrs Field’s? Ooh, they make really good cookies at Epoch. Want me to get you some of those?” By this stage he was already touching it. I grabbed it out of his hand forcefully, “Sorry Bry, these are very special to me.”

A few weeks after this incident, I had a mild panic attack when I saw I had miscounted my stock. I was completely out. I immediately booked a flight to Singapore, where I cleared three Starbuck’s of their entire inventory. Sitting on a bench on Orchard Road, I cracked opened the package, pulled out my first stroopwafel in two days, and savoured every chewy caramel bite. As it happened, the editor of Time Out Singapore was with me, and she joined me in my moment of glee. “Where did you find those?” she asked, pointing to my ten packages of Dutch delights. “I love them! I’ve been begging my friend in Holland to send me some,” she revealed. We shared a packet, and talked about our unusual love for this ever-pleasing treat.

When I came back, my fridge once again well-stocked, I was happy and relaxed. I put on my kettle, and prepared for my morning ritual. “Would you like some tea?” I asked my ex. “No, I really have to get going,” he replied, throwing on his crinkled tuxedo. “You should take some of these cookies with you. They are really amazing,” I said, to perhaps the only person worthy of sharing my stroopwafel.