When you want to talk Christmas cookies, where do you go but to the man who is synonymous with the word: Wally Amos.

The Kailua entrepreneur famously lost his Famous Amos brand name in a business deal. But he never lost his fame. With typical humor, he retorted by opening another cookie business called Uncle No Name. Today, he owns two Chip & Cookie boutiques, one in Kailua and one in Royal Hawaiian Shopping Center, selling fresh-baked cookies, books and gift items associated with the Chip & Cookie children's book characters he and his wife created in their ongoing commitment to promoting literacy. He learned just last week that his cookies will be sold aboard the Hawaii Superferry and served on Hawaiian Airlines flights.

He also is in demand as a motivational speaker and is the face behind New York-based Uncle Wally's Muffin Co., an outgrowth of one of his earlier ventures, which specializes in healthful muffins.

But mostly, he's the Cookie Man, especially at this time of year. And though he doesn't make Christmas cookies per se, everything he's about — good will, good cheer, good food — expresses the holiday spirit.

Though Amos doesn't pretend to be a home cook or even a trained baker, he has made a wildly famous living from cookies for 33 years.

Drop by his new shop in Waikiki and you can't have an uninterrupted conversation. While he shows off his oven (officially christened Ka Imu Aloha or The Lovin' Oven and draped with a congratulatory maile lei), Japanese tourists come in for cookies and a picture with the man known for his all-teeth smile and watermelon-themed shirts (made for him by Jams).

As he sits in the corner of the store reserved for storytelling from his Chip & Cookie children's books, a woman exclaims "You're HIM!" "I AM," he responds with equal fervor and a laugh.

"Your cookies got me through many a night," says the visitor from California, where Amos started his cookie journey. Later, she returns with her husband and children, who just had to see Amos for themselves. The mandatory picture-taking session ensues.

Then there's the young woman celebrating her birthday, who leaves the store not just with a picture posed in front of the custom-made Wally Amos surfboard, but with a kazoo tribute (Wally is quite the kazoo player) and a gift sack of free cookies.

Welcome to Wally's world, where cookies are the language of love.

It began not with love, but with the unraveling of a love relationship, when Amos' parents divorced and he was sent from his childhood home in Tallahassee, Fla., to live with his auntie Della, his mother's sister, in New York City.

Cookies were healing then. "All I had to do was make a sad face, and she would make 'em for me," he recalled. "I never thought about making them because she would do it for me."

Then cookies became business. It was 1970, Amos was grown and living in Hollywood, parlaying his large personality into a career as a talent agent. A friend made some cookies and he thought he'd make some, too, and give them out as business incentives — high-touch in a high-tech world.

But where to get a recipe? "Then I found out the recipe was right on the back of the Nestle's chocolate chip package. I never knew that," he says, laughing at his own culinary naivete. He started handing out cookies as a calling card wherever he went, and eventually — inevitably — someone suggested starting a cookie business.

In 1974, he found himself with an industrial-size bowl of batter and a storefront — clueless, but handing out cookies with a smile that still beguiles customers three decades later.

What IS it about cookies that cause us to associate them with everything that's good — including the holiday season?

"Cookies are like people. Each one is individual, unique, each has its own personality," said Amos.

He has strong feelings about what a cookie is and what it should be.

First of all, pancake-size, gigando-cookies: Wrong. "The size has something to do with the character of the cookie," says Amos. "You shouldn't have to walk around all day with this big old cookie in your hand. A cookie should be a bite, a bite of love."

And ingredients: Go back to Aunt Della's basics. Butter, sugar, flour, eggs. The real stuff. Nothing unpronounceable. And no skimping. He reels off the statistics: His chocolate chip cookies are 33 percent chocolate. The pecan cookies are 9 percent nuts. Just the way it is when you make that at home.

When someone tells him his cookies don't taste "store-bought," he all but stands up and shouts "These cookies aren't from a STORE. They have a HOME!"

Just as Amos has been inspired for all these years by Aunt Della's cookies, and the nurturing that came with them, he suggests that home cookie makers should remember that they're not just baking treats, they're building memories. "I could be responsible for something people remember," he said." I take that seriously." And then he smiles a Santa Claus-smile.