The worst whoopie pie baker in the world.

I like to think of myself as an okay baker. Maybe even a pretty good baker. (I’m nothing compared to my friend Emily, however. Check out her delicious stuff here.) We’re having company tonight, and I got lazy about dinner plans (“let’s order pizza,” I said), so I thought I’d make whoopie pies for dessert.

I found a delicious-looking recipe at A Family Feast, and thought, “How hard can it be?”

“How hard can it be?”

So. Effing. Hard.

  
(Yes, I said effing.)

The first batch was a sloppy, sad, wet nightmare. I overcompensated with the second, so they were tough little chocolate biscuits. During the third batch, I discovered the hard way that the cancel button on our new oven doesn’t just cancel the timer. It cancels the heat. Those whoopie pie ends made a thunk noise when I plopped them onto the cooling rack (after cooking them at very low heat for triple the time). Whoopie pie ends should definitely not make a thunk noise. The last batch was slightly overdone, because my heart wasn’t in it anymore.

I over-applied the filling, and after I assembled the whoopie pies, the little demons slid all over the place like goats on an ice rink. 

  
Zach and Maddie say they taste fine, but the grief they caused… The grief! 

Why didn’t I just bake cookies?

  
 

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