Wisdom in a Whoopie Pie

Sometimes simple is best. Often, less is more. These are important life lessons that are easy to forget. But once in a while, the universe reminds us in the strangest ways. Sometimes, wisdom comes in the form of decadent, creamy brilliance packed between a pair of domed, luscious cakes.

An Unexpected Treat

I hadn’t thought the first day of autumn could get any better. Indeed, it had been idyllic. I got up early to the first really cool, crisp morning of the season, put on the rain jacket I bought to use at the farm two years ago (and haven’t had occasion to wear) and spent four hours amongst the carrots and kale and the season’s last heirloom tomatoes. The sky gently misted off and on, and a steady wind carried on its back the scent of the summer’s glorious gloaming. Back at home I made a pot of french roast with cinnamon, put together a luscious omelette, and installed myself in the living room to watch the steel grey sky through the bay window.

My take from the farm on the first day of autumn.

Everything was perfect! The afternoon stretched on as I listened to decidedly autumnal music, and enjoyed the feeling of breathing in and out, and in again.

Then Brian got home.

“Can you give me a hand?” he said as he walked through the front door, arms filled with his various work equipment and two intriguing brown paper bags.

“Of course!” I leaped off the couch and bounded into the hallway.  “What are these?” I asked, relieving him of the paper bags.

He smiled. “Well, I was working in Maine today. . . “

I felt the smile on my face stretch so widely, I thought my mouth might tear at the corners. Inside the bags were piles of Whoopie Pies—of every flavor imaginable.

Now, if you don’t know what a Whoopie Pie is, you should stop reading this right now and find one immediately. I fear they may be somewhat regional, as I never encountered my first Whoopie Pie until moving to New England. But that was twelve years ago, so I can only assume their native range has spread. If you still have no idea, picture this. It’s like a cake sandwich; two muffin-top shaped cakes surround a cream filling. Sugar bombs, sure. Heavenly. Unforgivably decadent. Amazing!


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Revenge is better with a side of bacon. . . 

And these were from a little shop in Maine called Wicked Whoopie Pies, which makes the best Whoopie Pies on the planet.

“There are so many!” I said. Ten to be exact, which really is too many to have in one’s house at any given time.

“I just grabbed one of everything. Figure out which ones you want to keep, and we’ll give some away.”

Silly Brian. I didn’t want to give any of them away, but as I said, ten is dangerous. I’d rather not know the calorie count per pie, but let’s assume it’s in the neighborhood of 1500. I dumped them unceremoniously on the counter to better see the goods (hey, I was excited).

My eyes landed instantly on one in particular—chocolate cake with just a touch of red creeping out from the white filling. Black Forest!

A Whiff of Nostalgia

Every year as a child, my parents asked me what kind of cake I wanted for my birthday. Year after year, the answer was the same:

Black Forest cake for my 15th birthday

Black Forest.

There was something absolutely magical about the layers of chocolate cake with the creamy white filling and cherries between. The cake had this particular way of soaking up the cherry and becoming this luscious, nearly trifle-esque treat that I looked forward to all year.

Staring at that unassuming Whoopie Pie on the counter brought me back. At first it was all I could do to resist tearing open the plastic packaging and diving headfirst into my childhood.

Then another memory held me back—a reminder that sometimes it is best to leave our happy childhood memories on their pedestals. Nostalgia can sing a sweet siren song, and leave us drowning in the realization that things aren’t as great as we thought they were. . .

The Black Forest Cake that Wasn’t

If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you’ll know I have a slight obsession with the origin of things. Without digressing too far, I believe there is all this knowledge we’re losing to automation and technology. I wouldn’t trade either of these things for the world—they definitely make all our lives better—but it’s important for me to know the how and why of things. Bread didn’t always come in bags. Cheese wasn’t always wrapped in plastic at the grocery store. There was a time not too long ago when you couldn’t walk into a store any time of year and buy a can of tomatoes.

So I ferment and preserve fresh food in the old ways. I work at the farm not just for the delicious vegetables, but to feel connected to them—to watch them grow and develop and thrive. I’ve baked bread from wild yeast, and made my own cheese. Brian and I even took a brief foray into fermenting our own mead.

But it goes further. I’ve baked the original Boston Cream Pie recipe (which is nothing like the donuts that are so prolific in my part of the world). For one thing, it’s boozy, brushed with a rum syrup. . .

My ‘authentic’ Black Forest cake.

Which brings me back to the point. A few years ago a friend’s birthday was coming up, and I’d been on an authentic cake kick. I’d never tried my hand at Black Forest, so I decided to give it a go.  I looked high and low for what I thought would be the most authentic recipe, and finally settled on one that seemed appropriate.

Hell, it even called for a kirschwasser syrup, which is a (kind of nasty) German cherry liqueur.

So I put my baking cap on and got to work. Three layers of chocolate sponge cake? Check! Whipped cream filling? Check! Fresh cherries? Check! Shaved chocolate on top? Check!

It came out beautifully! It was my pride and joy. A real, original, authentic German Black Forest cake. I put it in my little cake caddy, we partied all night, and then it was time to serve it!

And it was disgusting! There are so many things I hated about it. The kirschwasser syrup saturated the sponge cake, making it far too boozy and texturally similar to tiramisu (which I despise). The whipped cream wasn’t sweet enough, and the fresh cherries lacked the appeal of the more processed ones I remember from my youth.

Everyone else seemed to enjoy it, but I was just. . . disappointed. This didn’t stand up to my memory of a Black Forest cake. This was just. . .

I called my mother the next day and told her all about my failure.

She laughed a little over the phone. “You’re not going to want to hear this,” she said.

“What?” I asked. “What did I do wrong?”

“That Black Forest cake we always made you? That was boxed devil’s food cake mix, cool-whip, and canned pie cherries.”

I was floored! I don’t know what recipe I thought they were using but. . . that wasn’t it! Now, I have nothing against any of these ingredients, I just thought. . .

I don’t know! I thought that something so special must’ve been constructed from ingredients that were less. . . ordinary.

“Are you disappointed?” she asked.

Truthfully I wasn’t—just confused. Which version of Black Forest was the imposter? The authentic, or the accessible?

Whoopie Wisdom

So I didn’t tear right into the Black Forest Whoopie Pie. I wasn’t sure I was ready to be disappointed again. I let it sit on the counter while I considered.

Beautifully disappointing.

Later that night, as luck would have it, the very same friend for whom I’d prepared the Black Forest cake came for dinner with her husband. Near the end of the evening it was time to unload some of the devilish little Whoopie Pies, and as the four of us stood in the kitchen, Brian approached me first.

“Well, which flavors do you definitely want to keep?”

Decision time! I spied the Black Forest again. Did I dare? I bit my lip softly, inhaled and said “I’d better keep that one.”

Our friends took four, leaving us the other six, and as the hour grew later, I heard Nostalgia’s song draw me into the water. Finally, after a few too many glasses of wine, I tore open the packaging and prepared myself for disappointment. I held the cake in my hand, closed my eyes and bit down.

And suddenly I was seven years old again. Suddenly the boozy, mushy, not-sweet-enough memory of that authentic Black Forest cake was eclipsed by chocolatey, creamy, cherry goodness. This was it! This was the flavor I remembered as a child. This was everything and it was. . .


No fancy sponge cake. No kirschwasser syrup. No fresh cherries. This was devil’s food cake, cream filling, and (probably) pie cherry syrup. It was exactly what I needed, and it was an important reminder:

Authentic is a relative term. Not everything that is old and original is better. It’s alright to indulge in processed and manufactured—and simple—once in a while. Perhaps neither my parents’ or Wicked Whoopie Pies’ versions would win awards in Bavaria, but they deserve gold medals in my house.

So the next time I need to make a birthday cake, forgive me if I step out to the store for some cake mix, canned pie cherries, and a tub of cool-whip. It turns out sometimes the extraordinary comes from the ordinary.

Tell me your thoughts! Have you ever been disappointed by the ‘authentic’ version of a food you love? What’s your favorite cake? If you could be any flavor of Whoopie Pie, which would you be? Let me know in the comments below.

Thanks as always for reading!


Click Here to Leave a Comment Below

lupa08 - September 25, 2017

All I want to do now is stuff my face. Thanks a lot! ;p

    Gregory Josephs - September 25, 2017

    Any time! You totally deserve it, right?! If it makes you feel any better, I have four more whoopie pies in my cabinet calling to me. . . Tough to resist!

Jana - September 25, 2017

Always loved your Dad’s Black Forest Cake, simpler is almost always best! Thanks for reminding me 🙂

    Gregory Josephs - September 25, 2017

    Me too! I should probably call and get the exact recipe! 💜

authensible1357 - September 25, 2017

What a good read! I enjoyed it tremendously.

    Gregory Josephs - September 25, 2017

    Aw, thank you! You deserve a Whoopie Pie for your kindness!

Wind Kisses - September 25, 2017

Great…now my mouth is watering. There are no bad whoopie pies, but until this past summer I didn’t know there was anything but the chocolate cake and white cream. If you ever go to Fogartys in Dover, NH, I can honestly say (my opinion) they are the best. They were so big, I told my 80 year old mom we should just share one. She refused, saying that were not meant to be shared. 😳👈🏼 She was right😂 I ate the whole dang yummy thing! My Black Forest cake IN the Black Forest is for another day. I loved this story. Once again you brought me “home” for a minute. Thank you.

    Gregory Josephs - September 25, 2017

    Black Forest Cake IN the Black Forest? Now I’m intrigued!

    I’ll check out Fogarty’s next time I’m in the area. Thanks for the recommendation. 😉

      Wind Kisses - September 25, 2017

      The quick version of the Black Forest story. When we travel, like most people, we research things to do. Well, I heard of a bakery in Triburg, Germany which boasts to be the original BF cake baker. They had a “how to” classes, and I didn’t care if it was in German. I was going to be there! THAT was it. We were in the country for two weeks and that was going to be the “cool thing” for me. (Drove my husband crazy 🤦🏼‍♀️). We get there…and they were closed for classes that day. 😫 And now my poor husband knows we will need to go back some day. 😂 Just kidding. I am not that pathetic…oh wait….

      Have a good evening Gregory.

        Gregory Josephs - September 25, 2017

        Oh how frustrating! Yes, you must go back!” You can tell me if the kirschwasser tastes sweeter. . .

        Have a good evening yourself!

Aimer Boyz - September 25, 2017

Cake mixes every time! Why mess with perfection? 🙂

    Gregory Josephs - September 25, 2017

    Point taken. . .😖 But I thought I could do it better! Damn you Betty Crocker! 😉

itsmyhusbandandme - September 29, 2017

Thanks for the trip round those gateauxs of your life!

    Gregory Josephs - October 2, 2017

    Gateau is very important! But I don’t need to tell you that. 😉

P. J. Lazos - October 2, 2017

I live in Central PA, the land of whoopie pies!! Love them!

    Gregory Josephs - October 2, 2017

    Shh. . . Make sure no Mainers hear you! There seems to be some question as to which state invented the devilish, er. . . delicious. . . desserts. Either way, yeah, they’re the best.

One Last Slice | Gregory Josephs - October 14, 2017

[…] visit with her parents, Erin (for whom I baked the Hot Chocolate wedding cake and that disastrous Black Forest failure I wrote about) went apple picking. It’s autumn in New England after all, and if you don’t at least consider […]

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