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Growing up, we didn’t have a whole lot of extra food lying around the house. This was not an indicator of deprivation in any form. Far from it.

But, with two little girls, money and time were tight. So, if the request for a certain item was not legibly written on my mother’s grocery list before 9 AM Saturday morning, you were out of luck.

Every once and awhile, three bananas would magically appear on the kitchen counter. My father, sister and I would exchange silent glances to inquire whether the others had made the request for the fruit.

No, no and no. When the answer was negative all the way around, we knew what to do. Walk away and don’t touch the bananas. Forget you saw them.

They, since not requested, were not for free consumption. The bright yellow fruit was to stay undisturbed, uneaten until brown flecks began to appear.

A day later, as the sugars continued to be released from within and the flecks had unified to form long bruises on the skin, they were ready.

Ready to be mashed into a beautiful loaf of banana bread.

I still love the smell of banana bread baking, the aroma released during its baking is both deliciously unmistakable and wholly comforting.

To consume a fresh, warm slice from the oven is heavenly. Just add a good cup of coffee for the perfect breakfast.

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A few weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night in a flash of brilliance. A way to combine two of my favorite desserts.

Macarons and whoopie pies. Two chocolate macarons sandwiching whoopie pie filling.

I decided to make them to bring my family. A family of whoopie pie lovers.

Also a family of whoopie pie snobs. Our old Maine recipe for whoopie pies is sacred. No impostors will do.

So, you can imagine the importance of achieving the same flavor combination and balance in my take on the dessert.

They seemed to go over well. If an empty container is any indication.

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When I was growing up, my favorite treat on a warm summer night was a slice of freshly baked shortcake with a dollop of sweetened whipped cream and a generous topping of strawberries.

The shortcake recipe was passed down through many generations of my family and truly has a perfect kiss of sweetness.

While summer strawberries are the best, often not requiring any extra sugar at all, I couldn’t resist buying a pint this past Sunday. A rainy, chilly spring day just seemed to beckon for a hint of the summertime.

Mike, however, was not convinced. In fact, he wrinkled up his nose in disgust when he learned the destiny of the strawberries.

I found this offensive. I informed him of this. And then I set about to end his four-year standoff against strawberry shortcake.

Enough was enough.

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