Artisan Twinkies Made From Scratch

The classic poets tell us there is always one love in your life that just never dies – that individual you consider “the one.”  For Sherlock Holmes it was the actress Irene Adler.  For Marc Antony it was Cleopatra.  For Richard Burton it was Elizabeth Taylor.   For Steve Austin it was Jamie Somers.  For Batman it was Catwoman.  

For me, it’s the Twinkie.     

Yes, the Twinkie is “the one.”  I’ve already chronicled how the obsession began in my junior high school years during the Golden Age of lunchbox treats.   I would anxiously await the noon hour to get a bite of that airy yellow sponge cake and glossy marshmallow filling.   But alas, a lifetime of happiness was not to be.  More recently, we mourned the demise of the Twinkie, as parent company Hostess became a victim of the Great Recession and all those hateful health food fanatics.

It all seemed over, yet I never quite gave up hope.   I’d hear rumors that the Twinkie had been “purchased” and would soon be staging a triumphant return.   Yet the end-of-the-aisle shelf at the grocery store that once proudly displayed boxes of Twinkies was instead stocked with a variety of snack food posers.  

Finally, I decided to take matters into my own hands.    My muse was this book – “Classic Snacks Made From Scratch” by Casey Barber.   

Barber understands the way to a suburbanite’s heart is with cream-filled snack cakes.   She offers dozens of kitchen-tested recipes for recreating authentic iconic snacks, including Sno-Balls, Devil Dogs, Tastykakes, Hostess Chocolate Cupcakes, and yes … my beloved Twinkie.

The day arrives for our fateful reunion and my heart is pounding with anticipation.   I understand there are some foodies who might look unkindly on the Twinkie, and consider it “the blonde” of the pastry world.   Yet, as I peruse Ms. Barber’s recipe, I can see that the torpedo-shaped sponge cake is grounded in classic pastry techniques. 

For authentic shape, Barber recommends a canoe pan.   I’d never heard of such a thing, but apparently some smart marketers have created the perfect Twinkie-shaped pan, just for purists like me.  Praise be amazon.com.   (And, if anyone tells me I need another specialty baking pan like I need a hole in the head, I’m gonna smack you!) 

The batter contains a mere six ingredients.   Some Twinkie recipes online suggest the use of a boxed pound cake mix.   But in this recipe, Barber gives a nod to the classic French sponge cake.   Egg yolks are separated from whites.  Both are whipped and then folded together like a soufflé, resulting in an oh-so-lite-and-airy-Audrey-Hepburn-in-Breakfast-at-Tiffanys-poofy batter.  The egg yolks create that distinctive Twinkie blondeness. 

Ten minutes in a 350-degree oven, and there’s no mistaking that renowned, shapely sponge cake. 

The pillowy, glossy-white filling is a classic marshmallow cream, or in pastry terminology, “an Italian meringue,” which is boiled sugar whipped into egg whites.      I’m a little nervous attempting to heat a sugar syrup to the soft-ball stage as I’ve had a few kitchen disasters with hot syrup in the past.   Yet the technique is successful, and I beat the boiling sugar into a batch of egg whites whipped to a soft peak.    

I’ve seen these kinds of clouds flying at 30 thousand feet, and there’s enough extra filling to gleefully lick the spoon.  

Once the cakes are cooled, it’s time to fill them.  Here’s where I start to feel like a mad scientist as I fill this slightly threatening pastry syringe with marshmallow cream.   

Three tiny holes are made in each cake and the pastry syringe is inserted.  You can feel the sponge cake swelling with cream.   This is where a little industrialization might actually come in handy.   

It’s messy, and a little tedious filling each cake by hand, but really no different than filling éclairs or pate a choux.  

The look is the ultimate in eye candy, and the taste is sheer bliss – light, frothy and delectable insouciance (but minus the cloying chemical aftertaste we all know and love).

Yes, there are some who might denigrate this classic cream-filled sponge cake or laugh at its slightly frivolous name.  But, I remain firmly and hopelessly in love, even more so, having crafted my own Twinkies lovingly by hand.  Who needs a tarte Tatin, anyway?  As Shakespeare might have written, “A Twinkie, by any other name would smell as sweet.” 

©2013 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved