I lie in bed at night and think about food. (It’s a shock, really, that I have any kids at all, between that habit and this blog. You’d think I’d have developed a George Costanza-esque association with food by now.) Every day some idea sneaks into my head, or I get a craving that I can’t shake, or read about something I want to try, or I remember something I haven’t made in a really, really long time, like these Whoopie Pies, which are as close to homemade Jos Louis cakes as you can get. (Except for the dipped in chocolate part – it would require a helluva lot of chocolate.)
Something or other triggered a memory of these, which then rattled around my brainpan for a week or so before I gave in and baked the cookies last night with the intention of bringing them along to a barbecue that I knew would have a dozen or so kids in attendance. As is my style I ran out of time to make the frosting, and we left the just-baked cookies sitting on the counter as we ran out the door.
So this morning we finished them, and when I wondered aloud what we might do with a dozen small burger-sized whoopie pies W suggested we bring some to the big boys who live up the hill; who are only the coolest boys ever, with cool toys and rock star wii and water pistols and lizards and cool hair and a brand new trampoline in the back yard. I think he’s coming up with excuses to go over to their house now. Like, the sun is up, can we go to the boys’ house? What are the boys doing now? and now? how about now? can we go over there now? Silver lining: he thinks school must be the funnest place ever and is desperate to go because that’s where the boys always seem to be.
So we went up the hill and ditched all but three of these, which we then ate for lunch. (Dinner was far less exciting – mediocre blueberry-bran muffins, thawed soup, brown rice, a bowl of blueberries for W.)
Also: a plea. What the hell do I do with this? (ooh, a two-hell post. Now three-hell! Now four!)
Someone gave it to my Dad, who passed it on to me. It’s about the size of half a pound of butter, and labeled “pure maple cream” on the box, but it appears to have completely petrified. It in no way resembles cream. It’s like a solid block of maple sugar. I suppose I could attempt to grate it and use it like maple sugar – any other brilliant ideas?