As a kid, one of my very favorite snacks was a Devil Dog. A Drake’s Devil Dog.
Folks who live in Maine, or whose moms baked know them as Whoopie Pies. But every day after school, I’d come home and open that plastic package, inhale the chocolate-y goodness, smush the two cake pieces together, and lick the cream inside. Kind of like a giant Oreo.
Devil Dogs were wonderful, although I’m pretty sure my memory is selective. I hardly remember the taste of plastic from the package at all, although I know it was there.
Some time in my 20s though, I realized I had to stop eating them. Because, when I DID eat them, I couldn’t stop eating them. So I stopped eating them. (Life begins to get complicated in your 20s, doesn’t it?)
Giving them up was a smart decision. Because about 5 years ago I had a cupcake that tasted just like a modern non-plastic-y Devil Dog. I still dream about it. And I am afraid to ever have another because, well, I can’t stop.
Still, even with out the chocolate-cream goodness, I still have a Devil Dog every day.
Duncan is now nearly 9 months old. He is mostly sweet, but sometimes his horns show.
Don’t worry, though. I love him differently than I loved Drake’s Devil Dogs And I never lick the cream out of him because I am not a perv.