good eat: banana whoopie pies

Generally speaking, I am far from embracing the junk food-junkie lifestyle, nor do I migrate toward the sweetness of cookie or candy aisles in the supermarket; rather, I am most likely to be found licking salt off the side of a building. Okay. That’s somewhat of an inadequate exaggeration (is that even possible?). However, I tend to embrace treats of the saltier genre, occasionally finding delicious concoctions of salty-sweet goodies. Pickles, along with honey wheat pretzels dunked in raspberry yogurt, are a weakness, although pickles certainly deserve their own host of ramblings, so without further ado I must retrieve my digression.

Onward!

It was ere that I committed to the familial duties required as the eldest sibling, stopping by to offer brief guidance, more laughter and name calling, and the fundamental discourse that would ensue betwixt the professorial type in her mid twenties and two of her adolescent siblings. As the lad retreated to the garage to perfect his tricked-out skateboarding dexterities, the young lady, the sort that (at an early age) is quite maternal, empathetic, yet oddly embraces an air of warranted highfalutin antics, led me to the kitchen where she was experimenting with this lady’s newest delectable formula.

Intrigued, I inquired if I might help—wrecking havoc in another’s kitchen or infringing on one’s personal bake time unannounced or uninvited is a grandly erroneous act. Obliging my request, my kin permitted me to take charge with a pastry bag (these are so cool, by the way) and extrude the batter onto parchment.

A mere twenty minutes later, perfecting the assembling process, we had a platter occupied with delicate, sweet indulgences.

A gentle sprinkle of 10x on top. Say no more. I was a goner.

Four banana whoopie pies later, I journeyed across the city to my home a gleeful twenty-something-year-old foodie, who, for the time being, had overlooked her aforementioned lack of interest of all entities sweet.