Tuesday, June 14, 2011
I stopped by Orwasher's today on the way to the CSA site, and they had some small whoopie pies under a cake dome. Chocolate cake with vanilla cream or white cake with lemon cream. I asked about the cream: a custard cream, or more like a frosting? It's more like a buttercream, said the hairnet-headed woman we all love (take away that woman and it's really goodbye, Orwasher's, which, of course, it sort of already has been since the new owners came along; but I digress). I bought a vanilla with lemon cream and delayed eating it until long after my first victim, a small apricot hamantaschen. (Orwasher's hamantaschen is quite good, but, Glaser's apricot hamantaschen, I must say, is the best I've had.)
Back to the whoopie pies. If an American elementary school were going to serve whoopie pies for dessert, I think it would be better to offer them as whoopy pies instead of whoopie pies, the y casting an effect similar to that of calling a Hoopoe a Hoopie (because this is how it was mispronounced in my household growing up). If the school were French, however, whoopie would be preferable.
Coincidentally I passed whoopy this weekend, while finishing Paul Zindel's Pardon Me, You're Stepping On My Eyeball!, a good book to follow The Phantom Tollbooth.
From about midway through the book, when Mrs. Shinglebox is complaining about her daughter not taking a computer dating service seriously enough:
" . . . I asked Edna one of the questions about where she thought the best place to make whoopy was, and she said on a horse."