making whoopie

‘Memba the Newlywed Show? And the host would always ask “where’s the strangest place that you’ve made whoopie?” and then the studio audience would go “woooooo” and the newlyweds would blush and answer the question and then one time that one guy that said “in the rear?” and it made it onto blooper reels for eternity? Well, this past weekend I made whoopie in the kitchen (studio audience woo) ba dump bah ching! I made whoopie in broad daylight in my kitchen and I made it all by myself. Hey oh! Alright, this is getting gross. It’s just that, I’m a 30 year old woman with the sense of humor of an 11 year old boy and anything that I can even remotely double entendre to death, well, I will.



So popular tradition says that whoopie pies are a “New England phenomenon” (seriously get a load of this unauthorized history of whoopie pies. I love the internet) and word on the street is they got their name because when kids would see these delicious treats on sale at a bakery they would holler “whoopie!” Now, as to where the term “making whoopie” came from, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that it might also have to do with, ahem, exclamations of “whoopie!” but this is unconfirmed. Alright, I’m done. Onto the snack cakes.





This recipe is very simple and straightforward. Trust me, I’m not much of a baker and I wouldn’t lead you astray. However, there were a couple tweaks necessary. Either my oven is well below the displayed temperature or the recipe adapters at Boston Globe are big fat liars, because the original 5-8 minute cooking time was laughably wrong, as were the proportions on how much filling to prepare. I doubled this recipe when I made it, so maybe if you are making just the standard amount (as set forth here), the Globe’s measurements on the filling preparation would be accurate, but to my knowledge, there is no way in hell that ½ cup heavy cream, no matter if it’s beat into creamy oblivion will puff up enough to provide adequate filling for this many whoopie pies. I mean, some things are just mathematical facts. And I am no mathematician (a well documented fact), but I know that whoopie pies with an inadequate pie to whoopie ratio might get you killed in this town, and that’s just a risk that I can’t take.



PUMPKIN WHOOPIE PIES
(found in the Boston Globe, adapted slightly)

For the pies:

1 cup sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 eggs
1 cup flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 pinch salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/3 teaspoon nutmeg powder
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves*
3/4 cup pumpkin puree

For the whoopie:

1 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoon confectioners' sugar
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon





*I didn’t have any clove. Clove is one of those spices so rarely needed that it simply is not in my spice arsenal. If you’ve got it, use it. If not use my substitution: pumpkin pie spice (I used about ½ tsp.).



In a large bowl, blend the sugar and oil. Beat in the eggs, one at a time. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and pumpkin pie spice. Whisk to blend dry ingredients. Add the flour mixture to the egg mixture. Stir in the pumpkin puree. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.



Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper or a Silpat pan liner. Spoon the dough onto the baking sheets, making an even number of rounds, that are approximately the same size. They will spread a bit, but not dramatically so, so just use your common sense on spacing. Now here is where the original recipe said to bake them for 5-8 minutes, which is just a flat out lie. I baked mine for 8, checked on the progress, found them to still be visibly liquid-like. I baked them another 5 and they had started to set up, but the toothpick test came out sticky. All in all I would say each batch was baked closer to the 15-20 minute mark, but I would just recommend you stay close and check on them after 8 minutes and every few minutes after that. You need them to be cooked through, but you wouldn’t want them to brown, burn or dry out.



Check for doneness by inserting a toothpick into the middle and when it comes out clean, your pies are done. Remove from oven, let cool on the baking sheets for a few minutes, then place on a cooling rack to cool completely. These are surprisingly very workable and easy. I thought I would have to be super delicate, but they’re a very forgiving cookie. As per sticking, they didn’t stick too badly to the parchment paper, but the batches that I cooked on a silpat liner slid off with ease. If you like to bake, these liners are SO incredibly worth having. I only have one but I need more. Easy clean up, perfect cookies and they are very cute, which means they photograph well, which means a great deal to me. Because I am a dork for aesthetics.





While the pies are cooling, prepare your filling. In an electric mixer, beat the cream until it holds soft peaks; add the sugar and cinnamon and continue beating until the cream forms stiff peaks (hee hee). When the cookies are cool, spoon the cream filling onto one cookie and top with another. You may have to prepare another batch of filling, depending on your proportions here, but with a mixer, it’s very easy to whip up another batch. Once filled, I dusted each side with confectioners’ sugar and layered them with parchment paper to travel. I stored them in the fridge, simply because with the whipped cream filling it seemed to make sense; however, if you opted for a frosting-type filling, room temperature would do just fine.

big pimpin

Once upon a time I was a waitress and bartender in a midrange American Bar and Grill. And at that lovely establishment I met many, many wonderful friends who I drank many, many beers with. I am still close to many of these friends today, even though life has blessedly taken us out from behind the Micros and out into the big bad world to seek our fortunes. One such friend from that job just so happens to be an excruciatingly talented graphic designer who is, in my mind, living the dream, having recently gone into business for herself and is, bit by bit, making it work, and making the world a whole lot cuter in the process. She suggested over email the other day that I let her help me make a neat little header for this here blog and the result is that she completely pimped out Porky D. Making it more adorable than I even thought possible! Hope you like the improvements! I’m also in the process of compiling a recipe index, because my sister told me she was looking for my black bean soup recipe for like an hour the other day. Life is hard enough, Porky Dickens should be easy. I will make it happen I promise. In the meantime, much love to Court! You’re the best!

me vs. the 'fridgerator

I have been bad at buying groceries lately. I accidentally bought too many eggs.



So I made a quiche: scallion, pancetta and cheddar.



Just like I did here. But with different fixings.



I made my own pie crust for the first time. Which was more or less a success.



But something about the quiche was off. I think it was the cheese, because it was reduced fat cheddar. And call me crazy, but I just don't trust a reduced fat cheese.



We ate it for dinner but threw the leftovers away. I hate that.

because it's Italy

When I think about the Olive Garden I always remember this awesome story about my college roommate’s dad. Her family was real deal New York Italian. I loved listening to them talk because they had the BEST New York accents. My other roommate and I would roll on the floor if she said the word “dog” and “chocolate” in the same sentence. I miss that accent. One time our shared friend was visiting her family, with a pal from Australia named Emily. They were all gathered together for a barbecue and my roommate’s dad started asking Emily about what it was like to be from Australia. “So you eat at Outback?” he asked sincerely. His son Phil was like “Dad? Are you serious? That’s like asking an Italian person if they eat at Olive Garden.” His dad looked at him incredulous; his brow crinkled, and said “No it isn’t.” “Why Pop?” “Because it’s Italy.” Period. End of sentence. I love his stance that Italian food needs no explanation, introduction or excuses. I loved his assurance, like: no. questions. asked. Food= Italy, don’t be stupid, son.



I’ve never actually been to an Olive Garden. Not because I’m a real Italian or anything (puh, I wish), and not because I’m a food snob who’s above chain restaurants (I have been known on occasion to delight in the culinary artistry of a Chili’s Southwest Eggroll if you know what I’m saying) simply because I’ve never been close to one at meal time. I’ve heard good things though. I’m not here to hate on OG. “Real” Italian or not many people seem to like it. Or maybe they just go nuts for anything “unlimited” like the soup, salad and breadsticks combo. We, as Americans, tend to not like “limits” on things, especially if there’s breadsticks involved. It’s our god given right. Plus, Paul told me one time when he ate there he had a sauce there that tasted exactly as though they had made it with the orange cheese dust from a bag of Doritos. I mean, I don’t know if you’ve checked lately but Doritos taste good, sooooo, I was somewhat intrigued. He said it was delicious but he wanted to die afterwards. Anyways, the reason I was thinking of Olive Garden, and hence the above story, is that this week I decided to make pasta fagioli soup, and according to the world wide web, the Olive Garden recipe is the most sought after out there. I did not go with their recipe simply because I didn’t really use a recipe when making this; I just looked over a couple, got the general idea and made up my own. Soup is very forgiving in this sense.



PASTA FAGIOLI

Olive oil
2-3 slices prosciutto, diced
1 onion, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp. each dried basil and oregano
½ cup red wine
1 lg. can plum tomatoes in sauce (pref: San Marzano)
1 can each of white beans and kidney beans
1 32 oz. container vegetable or chicken stock

Pasta

Pesto
Grated parmesan cheese



Heat a large Dutch oven or heavy bottom stock pot over medium heat. Brown prosciutto in a few tablespoons olive oil; add onions and sauté, stirring often for about 10 minutes. Add garlic and cook for an additional 3-4 minutes, until fragrant and golden. Add your dried herbs (fresh would be even better- I simply didn’t have any handy). Turn heat up and pour in wine, using a wooden spoon or spatula to scrape all the burnt er- um, bronzed- bits off the bottom of your pot, allowing the wine to reduce until it is mostly evaporated. This will turn your onions purple; fear not, you’re headed in the right direction. You can also skip this step altogether, but I thought it would add a little depth of flavor.





Reduce your heat back down to medium and add your tomatoes. As I added each tomato I squished it and broke it apart with my hand. If you’re not into getting your hands dirty you could take them out of the can and coarsely chop them, but I mean, grow up, squishing tomatoes is fun. Let this mixture simmer for a few minutes while you drain and rinse both cans of beans, then proceed to add them to your pot. Pour the vegetable or chicken stock in and let simmer. I let mine simmer for about 40 minutes and then turned it down to low and let it hang while I prepped the pasta.



Cook pasta separately, according to package directions. Be sure to cook it al dente, since it will continue to cook in the soup. Use any shape you would like, although I have to say the smaller the better. I used full sized penne and it pretty much took over the whole show. Such an attention whore that penne. When you’re ready to serve. Scoop a dollop of pesto (store bought fine by me) and some freshly grated parmesan cheese into the bottom of your bowl before ladling your soup in. THEN, add another little scoop of pesto and a few more passes of grated parmesan over the top. Serve immediately.





Storage note, keep your cooked pasta separate from your soup. I knew to do this but alas, did not. I got overzealous and dumped all of the pasta I had cooked into the soup. The pasta never really stops absorbing the liquid, so it morphed into a sort of deconstructed, overcooked pasta dish. Still tasted aight, but learn from my mistakes, k? You will also note that I did simmer the soup with a sprig of fresh rosemary. Which is completely an option for you. However, it was a little overpowering for me, so I don't wholeheartedly endorse it, which is why I left it out of the recipe.

mental fruit

There is this Dead Prez song that’s about being vegetarian and one of the lines goes “lentil soup is mental fruit.” Now I’m not vegetarian, or even particularly familiar with the rest of that song; however, try to get that sentence out of your head when you’re making lentil soup. I found myself really wishing I knew more of the lyrics to that song.



I was at the grocery store and I felt like I should buy lentils, despite the fact that my experience with them is extremely limited and I had no particular idea what I would do with them once I got them home. I just decided I want to be the kind of person that has lentils in their pantry. Just like I want to be the kind of woman who puts her keys/phone/chapstick in the same compartment in her purse every time and doesn’t stand there rummaging for 35 minutes every time she needs something. You know, an organized person. I want to be that kind of person. The desire is there, it’s just the execution upon which I falter.

So I found myself in the grocery store thinking “ah yes, lentils.” And then I was like “oooh cute red ones!” I would figure out what to do with them eventually. So last Thursday I went to the Google and I asked the Great and Powerful One for all of its knowledge on red lentil soup recipes. It’s turned a bit chilly and decidedly fall-like here so soup seemed like a fitting choice. I adapted this recipe very slightly from one I found in the New York Times (or on? The New York Times? Can it be “in” if you didn’t actually open up a physical newspaper?). Long story short I made this soup and it was, as my mom would (embarrassingly) say, the bomb diggity. I will be making this again and again for the duration of soup season. Not only is it cheap, cheap, cheap. It’s also really not bad for you at all. There’s only 3 tablespoons of oil in the whole pot and lentils are a whole grain (I think) and everything else is just spices and everybody knows cooking with spices makes you thin. For me, after a summer filled with indulgence and (way, way, way too much) white wine, this soup fits right in to my “rediscovering healthy food” fall agenda.

RED LENTIL SOUP

One package red lentils, picked over for stones, etc.
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 large onion, diced
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 tsp. garam masala
2-3 tsp. cumin
2 tsp. coriander
1-2 tsp. turmeric
2 healthy pinches of cayenne

Chicken (or vegetable) stock
Salt
Pepper
Siracha
Juice from half a lemon



Heat oil in a large heavy bottom sauce pan or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onions and sweat until golden. The original recipe suggests 4 minutes, but I went the extra step and cooked mine for about 15 minutes, almost caramelizing them. I think it added a little something. Add garlic and sauté for another few minutes, until fragrant, stirring often so as not to scorch. Add tomato pasta and all of the spices (through the cayenne). Stir together for a minute or two to meld the flavors. Pour in lentils and toss everything together, top with chicken stock to cover (about 2 quarts I would guess). At this point the recipe told me to simmer it for about 30 minutes until the lentils were tender but I did not read that, assumed that the lentils would need to be boiled, cranked it up and walked away. About 5-10 minutes later I turned the heat down and let it simmer. You can take either route. Even though it was a mistake for me to boil them, the soup turned out great and it sort of made my lentils mushy and fall apart, which I thought was fine and saved me the step or pureeing half the soup as the directions told me to do.



Once the lentils are cooked, THEN you add salt and pepper. Apparently if you add salt before the lentils cook, they get a little chewy. This needed a LOT of additional zest and spice at this point in the game. I added a very generous amount of salt, cracked black pepper and then two big squeezes of Siracha (Thai chili sauce, available everywhere in the hot sauce or ethnic food section). Then I would taste, add a touch more salt, a little more pepper, another small squeeze of Siracha. At the end, you finish the soup with the juice from half and lemon. Both the chili sauce and the lemon juice really brightened this soup up. I did not expect it to be so good but (not to toot my own horn *toot* *toot*) it WAS, in the words of my No. 1 Taster “unreal.” I ate it for lunch the next day and we had it again for dinner on Sunday night. This recipe is one to put on regular rotation for sure.



So yeah…tis the time of year when it starts getting dark before dinner is done and my photos start to suck again. I don’t really have a solution for this yet. Well, I do but it would involve quitting my day job and last time I checked “food blogger” was pretty much synonymous with “unemployed” and offered nil benefits; so, until Publisher’s Clearing House shows up we’ll all just have to deal with the seasonal shifts in aesthetics here at Porky D.

clam baked

some images from my aunt and uncle's Labor Day Weekend Clambake.



they're pretty much experts at this by now since they've been baking clams since Regan was president and my dad wore short shorts.



clambakes are exciting because FIRE!





and TEAMWORK!





(I had a better picture of Team Clam on scrubbing duty but you could see my buttcrack and I'm just not sure we're *there* yet)



and all of the sudden everyone has to pitch in and help!









and it's quite the show. Everyone gathers round and either assists, takes photos of the action, or simply stands back and admires. It's like a rock concert that you can eat.

...and there's DRAWN BUTTER!



I've said it before, I'll say it again, any food that acts as a vessel for golden, melted butter is alright by me.

It was a delicious way to close out the summer.



I look mega awkward here because I'm leaning forward to showcase my plate. I don't actually have a one foot torso and legs that stick out to the right side only. I'm actually of adequate proportions, thanks for your concern.

I'd also like to give a photo credit to my sister in law, Renee, because she's the family historian and I poached a bunch of her photos for this post. Because they were much, much better than mine.