Obviously, anything as dangerous as a peanut butter whoopie pie warrants an explanation.
Normally I try to steer clear of desserts and sweets. And these "whoopie pies"--which must look painfully familiar to anyone south of the Mason Dixon line, where Moon Pies rule--are basically death on a bun.
What happened was, I've been conducting a new year's cleanup--clearing desktops, sorting through piles of accumulated papers, thinning out files and finally going through my entire collection of food magazines, tearing out any worthwhile articles and bundling the rest for the recycling center.
It was in a January 2004 issue of Martha Stewart Living that I spotted the recipe for whoopie pies. On any other day, I wouldn't have given it a second thought. But I have an 8-year-old girl here on holiday break who's watching too much TV. She jumped at the chance to make whoppie pies. (The blame, in other words, rests soley with her.) The rest, as they say, is history.
Well, not so fast. Because it also happens that the garden gang I hang with, D.C. Urban Gardeners, was scheduled to drop by for a meeting. So I slotted the whoppie pies for the dessert end of a simple buffet to serve while brain wracking over how to support sustainable horticulture in the District of Columbia. The final menu worked out this way:
Winter salad of greens and roasted beets from the garden, toasted walnuts and Gorgonzola cheese with mustard vinaigrette; buttermilk biscuits with our own tomato-coriander jam; roasted acorn squash slices with maple-pomegranate glaze; and, of course, whoopie pies.
People are astonished to learn that we are still harvesting salad and beets from the garden, yet we are, and other things as well. But that could soon be coming to an end. Temperatures have plunged close to 20 degrees hereabouts, and the lettuces were already looking a little ragged.
The whoopie pies are deadly: two cakey chocolate cookies sandwiching a peanut butter-infused butter cream. One is enough to sound cardiac alarm bells. Two--well, by then you are condemned to a special place in peanut butter hell.
Yet, I heard nary a complaint. For the recipe, see Martha's website here.