Prologue
Sometimes, I think, we’re primed to notice coincidences. I’m sure unremarkable, or even funny or important ones, happen all the time, but unless we’re feeling observant, they usually pass unnoticed.
Some people say there are no coincidences, that everything happens for a reason, that for every effect there was a direct and clear cause. Well, if my latest moment of serendipity has any greater meaning, I’ve yet to find it. Let me know what you think.
But first, a quiz.

Pfffffft.
When you think of the word “whoopie” (or “whoopee”), what comes to mind?
- (A.) A terribly old-fashioned euphemism
- (B.) A farting cushion
- (C.) An exaggerated expression of excitement
- (D.) A giant snack cake
- (E.) All of the above except (D.)
- (F.) All of the above
Whoop-te-doo
Until this week, my answer would have been (E.), for sure. But then I read a random tidbit about the Whoopie Pie online. Someone was trying to find one in Austin and felt the search was hopeless. I was of no help, as I’d never so much as heard of the things.
With a little bit of research, I found out that the cream-filled, chocolate sandwich-cookie-cake is highly popular in some of our smaller, more northerly states, as well as in Amish country. Not in Texas, though.
I was intrigued. I wanted to figure out what it was about these treats that made people’s mouths water with nostalgia and hunger, and why, in a state where outrageously sweet and/or obnoxiously fatty treats (think kolaches, candy-coated pecans, chicken-fried bacon, a House of Pies, Shipley’s sugar-coated Do-Nuts, chicken-fried steak, cupcakeries, chicken-fried chicken …) are ubiquitous, this particular confection was missing.

Whoopie overload.
Turns out that Wicked Whoopies, a company based out of Maine that thrives on mail-order business via its site (http://www.wickedwhoopies.com/), is the place to go for displaced New Englanders in search of their childhood favorite.
A dozen classic (chocolate cakes, plain sweet filling) pies will set you back $24, plus $11-$65 in shipping, and the site also offers appetizing-sounding varieties ranging from maple to peanut butter to pumpkin, as well as a chocolate-dipped variety and a 5-pound monster pie ($24 on its own).
At $2 a pop ($7.4o with next-day air), I assumed the Whoopie had to be vastly superior to a Little Debbie Swiss Cake Roll or a SnackWells Devil’s Food Cake, the products it brought to mind (white filling, darkly chocolate cake).
Whoop, there it is
Imagine my surprise when, just two days after I’d been introduced to the concept, a co-worker sent an e-mail to everyone in the office, begging us to partake of a giant order of Whoopie Pies he’d been express-mailed that very day.

It's a whopper. Probably 3 1/2 inches across.
I practically leapt from my desk to snatch one up (with thanks to the co-worker, of course) from the super-bubble-wrapped case — somebody didn’t want these cakes getting spoiled, squashed or so much as nudged out of place.
The first thing I noticed was the heft. This thing was huge, about the size of a hamburger, but the ‘bun’ was much more dense. At 5.75 ounces, one pie is more than double the size of a pair of Swiss Cake Rolls (2.2 oz) and only one ounce smaller than a whole box of SnackWells.

It glistens.
A single Wicked Whoopie pie is two servings for 740 total calories, 42 grams of fat, 54 g of sugar and, oddly, 20 percent of your daily iron intake. By comparison, a whole box of SnackWells (12 cookies) has 600 cal; a Swiss Roll 2-pack has 270 cal (the equivalent weight in rolls, which would be absurd to eat in one sitting, would have 702 cal).
Big (mouth full of) Whoop(ie)
I waited until I got home from work to open the package, as I didn’t want to distractedly munch at such a hippopotamus of a snack while working and find I’d eaten the whole thing without noticing.
It was just as well. Simply removing the cake from the packaging got my fingers all covered in shortening and sugar from the oozing innards. At the office, my keyboard, desk and everything else would have ended up sticky and slick with white glop. At home, it was just my countertop, hands and camera.

Chock full o' ingredients I can't pronounce.
I licked my fingers clean so I could snap some pictures. The filling is fluffy and tastes of nothing much more than sugar and shortening. Sweet and greasy.
After sizing it up, I cut in, causing yet more stuff to gush out with the pressure of the knife — the filling layer began nearly half an inch thick. I started with just a sliver. The flavor of the interior fluff overwhelmed that of the heavy chocolate cake. I just couldn’t get a good idea of the cake’s taste when all my mouth could feel was a sugar rush.

I tried just a smidge more than this slice.
I licked one side of the scrap of cake clean of icing, took a few sips of water, and tried the brown slab on its own. The slightly dry, shiny outside gave way to a pleasantly compact, lightly chocolatey inside. It reminded me of a high-quality commercial cupcake. It might have just been the heady sugar buzz from the earlier spoonfuls of frosting, but I actually enjoyed the cake.

The first-bite mess was an inevitability.
If I were more of the dessert-buying type (the cupcakes I got in December were the first baked sweets I’d bought in at least six months), I might actually pay $2 for two of these gigantic chocolate buns. … OK, probably not. The ingredient list is pretty gross. But the texture and flavor were better than the average prepackaged snack cake, by a mile.

Way, way too much fluff.
I tried another bite, but by then my sugar intake was far too high for midnight. So now I have 3/4 of a Wicked Whoopie in my fridge, awaiting the day when I get a craving for such absurdity. Want a bite?
Makin’ Whoopie (at home)
I can’t vouch for this recipe (courtesy cooks.com), but I’d be tempted to try the cake part of it and maybe halve the filling recipe. I looked at tons of them all over the Internet, and this one sounds the most doable, authentic and good (and not monstrously big, serving-size wise).
PIES:
- 2 c. sugar
- 3/4 c. shortening
- 2 eggs, slightly beaten
- 2 c. milk
- 2 tsp. vanilla
- 10 tbsp. cocoa
- 4 c. flour
- 2 1/2 tsp. soda
- Pinch of salt
Cream shortening and sugar. Combine beaten eggs, milk and vanilla and beat into creamed mixture. Slowly stir sifted dry ingredients into the creamed mixture, and beat on medium speed about 2 minutes. Drop with tablespoon onto greased and floured cookie sheet (enough dough to make a baked cookie about 2 to 2 1/2 inches). Bake at 350 degrees until cookie just springs back when pressed in center with finger. Remove to rack and cool completely before filling.
FILLING:
- 1 1/2 c. shortening
- 1 1/2 c. confectioners sugar
- 12 tbsp. marshmallow fluff
- 2 tsp. pure vanilla
Combine fluff, shortening, and vanilla and beat until well mixed. Slowly add confectioners sugar until well mixed. Place a generous amount on the flat side of one cookie and top with another cookie. Makes about 2 dozen whoopie pies.
These store well in an airtight container in the refrigerator and also freeze well.

The recipe that accompanied this picture sounds super easy, using Devil's Food cake mix (photo is link to recipe).
Postlogue
At work today, the co-worker was still trying to get rid of the last of the dozen pies. I never asked who sent them or why he didn’t want them, as I didn’t really want to know. After the taste test and label-reading, I have my suspicions.
The last Whoopie was taken from its plastic cradle by a woman who remarked, when she saw me looking in her direction (likely not without a bit of puzzlement in my eyes), “It’s not for me. I’m gonna let my 4-year-old boy have at it!”
As she laughed at her own excuse, I couldn’t help but think, “What childhood obesity epidemic?”