About eight months into my relationship with Tom, his mom and Tom invited me to Bar Harbor, Maine to celebrate his father’s memorial. His dad had passed away just three days after Tom and I started dating. I jumped at the chance to visit the North Atlantic seaboard. As a bonus, I got to meet the rest of his gazillion family.

We flew into Portland, Maine, then drove three hours to Bar Harbor. I fell hard for this town on Mount Desert Island. Picturesque cottage homes, cozy inns, charming shops, taverns, and restaurants, all perched at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. That was all I needed.

By day three, I informed Tom of the plan. We would get married there. We would buy a home. We would remodel it into a cute B&B. We would live by the water forever, eat lobster regularly, go whale watching and kayaking, hike Acadia National Park, and stuff ourselves with popovers from Jordan Pond House.

He simply said, “OK.”

Smart man. Even then, he knew when to nod and smile.

Then one of his brothers, the one who lives in Bar Harbor, pulled me aside. He casually mentioned that winter temperatures often sit in the 20s and sometimes dip into the teens. Lots of snow, too. Then he showed me a photo of his house. The only visible part was the roof. Everything else was buried under a thick blanket of snow.

Just like that, my B&B dream by the water, lobster feasts, and whale and dolphin watching quietly relocated in my mind to a coastal town in Florida.

One of our favorite activities that week was breakfast hopping. Every morning meant a new cozy café somewhere around town. One day, as we were leaving one of them, Tom’s mom stopped and announced we needed to buy whoopie pies.

Whoopie what now?

And right then and there, I was introduced to Maine’s most loved comfort food.

Once I saw them, my first reaction was, “Pie?”
That is not a pie. No crust. No fruit. No filling situation I recognize. These so-called pies were two small chocolate cake rounds pressed together with a creamy filling.

When I asked who came up with this idea, the cashier explained that history points to the Amish. They baked them for generations as a treat made from leftover cake batter. And honestly, anyone who refuses to waste cake batter earns my respect.

I took one bite and knew immediately these were not going to be my thing. Way too sweet. And you already know how I feel about overly sweet desserts. So I handed mine over to Tom to finish and moved on with my life.

Fast forward to this week’s recipe choice. When I saw whoopie pies on the list, I thought, let’s see if Rose can prove me wrong. I did not have high hopes, especially after spotting muscovado sugar in the ingredient list. I am not a big fan. The flavor is strong, even if it gets bonus points for being less refined than white sugar. Who knew.

Still, experience has taught me that Rose’s recipes often surprise me.

The rest of the ingredients were straightforward. Chocolate, flour, cocoa, an egg, oil, butter. The batter came together easily. And yes, I tasted it. Do not lie to me and say you do not lick the batter. I thought the sweetness level was under control.

The texture, on the other hand, raised questions.

The batter felt too loose to scoop and drop into neat round portions. Naturally, second-guessing kicked in. At this point, I was sure I had jinxed myself. Remember this moment.

I grabbed my ice cream scoop, ready to portion the batter, when I noticed it had a number on it. Ice cream scoops have numbers. News to me.

Uh oh.

I reread the recipe and saw each portion should be about two tablespoons. So I eyeballed it. By the fourth scoop, it became clear I was running out of batter. Another reread confirmed the recipe was supposed to yield six pies. That meant twelve rounds total.

Recipe one. Monica zero. Sigh.

I poured the batter back into the bowl, washed the baking sheet, and started over. This time I paid attention. I portioned twelve very imperfect rounds. Six went into the oven. The other six went into the freezer because I was convinced the batter would absorb humidity and turn into one giant baking disaster.

At the six-minute mark, I opened the oven to rotate the pan. The batter had spread everywhere. Any hope of picture-perfect, puffed-up rounds was gone. The ones in the book looked lovely.

Mine looked like oval aliens. Not great.

Since I clearly needed to continue this already jinxed free fall, I moved on to the marshmallow cream.

That meant making a sugar syrup. And yes, remember my last attempt at this. Turns out I am nothing if not consistent. Not the good kind. I am fully convinced my candy thermometer is broken. I stopped cooking the sugar at 250 degrees. Or so I thought.The moment I poured it into the egg whites, the syrup started to caramelize. Again. Hard sugar bits everywhere. Egg whites full of crunchy regret.

Recipe two. Monica zero.

I was too defeated to start over. I picked out the biggest sugar chunks, stuck the mixture in the fridge to cool, and moved on to the butter and powdered sugar. Once the meringue cooled, I folded it in and assembled the pies.

When I finished, I poured myself a drink and congratulated myself for not completely losing it.

Verdict.

Tom. “They’re good. A bit too sweet. I wonder how they would taste with ice cream instead of the cream filling.”

Me: I liked them. They were not as sweet as the ones I tasted in Maine, but the cake had a strong molasses flavor from the muscovado sugar. That part kept throwing me off. I would make them again using regular brown sugar and swap the filling for ice cream.

Yes, yes. I know. Then they are not whoopie pies. They are ice cream sandwiches.

But really. Who is keeping track.

Disclaimer: No recipes are shared in my Heavenly Cake Baker posts, per the rules of the bake along. We are not permitted to share recipes from Rose’s Heavenly Cakes due to publisher restrictions. You can purchase the book here to follow along.