Stalwart of a thousand summer lunch parties, the pavlova, a magnificent billowing cloud of cream and meringue and seasonal fruit, is named after the Russian ballerina Anna Pavlova, who visited Australia and New Zealand in 1926. Which Antipodean nation can take credit for it, however, is unclear – though the combination of meringue and cream is far older than Anna herself, both countries claim the pavlova as their own.
The safest course to steer seems to be that of Helen M Leach, who, having reviewed the evidence in her book The Pavlova Cake: the Evolution of a National Dish, declares her “preferred, more diplomatic conclusion is that we are dealing with a case of convergent cultural evolution.”
What is indisputable is that, whether summer comes in December or July, whether it brings rambutans or raspberries, pavlova is the perfect dessert when you want to make the most of the season’s fruit with something a bit fancier than Eton mess. Not the height of fashion, perhaps, but like ballet itself, always a joy to behold.
The meringue
It may be hidden beneath layers of fruit and cream, but the meringue base is what separates a decent pavlova (because really, it’s very hard to make something bad from meringue and cream) from a truly great one. Though anything involving whipped egg whites tends to strike fear into the slapdash cook’s heart (I speak personally), meringues are in fact very easy to make, as long as you follow a few basic rules, all of which revolve around keeping the whites as far as possible from anything that will burst their bubbles. Separate your eggs with meticulous care to avoid getting even the merest smidgen of fat in the whites (or substitute ready-separated egg whites if you don’t plan to make carbonara or custard with the spare yolks), and use a scrupulously clean metal or glass bowl and whisk to whip them up – any grease or washing-up liquid will stop them achieving their full potential.
Many recipes add a little acid to help stabilise the foam, in the form of cream of tartar or vinegar; or starch, in the form of cornflour or arrowroot (or all of the above, if you’re Bill Granger). But as Delia Smith tartly notes: “I never make this with the traditional cornflour and vinegar, since side-by-side comparisons have revealed very little difference”. She’s right – her meringue, made solely from egg whites and sugar, is pretty perfect, while some of the starch heavy versions have an unpleasant powdery finish. However if, like me, you’re not Delia Smith, it’s easier to get maximum volume with the help of a little cream of tartar or similar.
The more sugar you use, the crisper, and of course sweeter, the end result. Oddly, we discover, it is possible for a meringue to be too sweet, and – traditionally at least – the pavlova should still have “the promise of squidginess” in the middle, as Nigella Lawson puts it so beautifully in her book, Forever Summer. Most of the recipes I try use somewhere between 150-175g per three egg whites, with the exception of Maggie Beer, who goes for 330g, possibly because she’s pairing it with acidic fruit in this particular instance. For a more versatile recipe, however, I’m going to keep the sugar content fairly low.
Yotam Ottolenghi and Helen Goh heat the meringue mixture while whisking, more like an Italian meringue, which does indeed give it a beautifully voluminous consistency, but we’ve no complaints about Smith’s version. More important, for a really luscious middle, is not to let it completely dry out in the oven, as you would with crisper meringues – that “promise of squidge” is important – a fairly low temperature is still desirable, however, so it doesn’t caramelise. If you want it to sit for a while you might consider painting the base with melted chocolate, as Ottolenghi and Goh do, to form a protective barrier between cream and meringue.
Lawson also recommends a family tip from Australian food writer Stephanie Alexander referenced in How To Eat, which is to turn the meringue base over before smearing it with cream, so “the marshmallow middle melds with cream and the sides and the base stay crisp”, though I prefer the look of them built up around the edge, which of course is impossible to achieve upside down.
You can flavour the meringue with brown sugar, which Ottolenghi and Goh credit for the “gooey, almost toffee-like” consistency of their base. Lawson flavours hers with cocoa powder and chocolate chips, which create luscious little pockets of bitterness. But my preference is vanilla, which goes with almost anything, though here I’ve chosen to flavour the cream instead. Experiment – if it goes with sugar, it’ll probably work. Note that a pinch of salt is always a good idea in very sweet desserts like this, but don’t add it until your meringue has formed, or it’ll take an age to whip up.
The filling
Whipped cream is, of course, the classic choice – though if you’re using very sugary fruit, like ripe raspberries, mango, lychees or figs, I’d consider cutting it with creme fraiche, as Beer does in other recipes; or yoghurt, as in Granger’s book, Best of Bill. Yes, it sounds like it might take the joy out of this gloriously indulgent dish, but in fact, the slight tanginess works beautifully to balance the sweetness of the meringue and fruit.
Ottolenghi and Goh use a mixture of mascarpone and cream in Sweet, which gives a firmer, richer, silkier consistency – and flavour it with almond praline, blitzed to a powder to give a wonderful nutty caramel flavour that pairs perfectly with the cinnamon in their meringue. It also, of course, adds to the work involved, but, as someone notes when I post a picture online, “you had me at praline cream. I mean, you could give me a bowl of just that and I’d happily smother to death in it”.
The fruit
This will, of course, depend on what’s available near you – Beer’s stewed gooseberry version is a revelation to me, showing why passion fruit pavlova is so popular in its homeland. Acidity is key here as a contrast to the sweet meringue and bland richness of the cream, which is why the redcurrants work so well in Smith’s red fruit selection, so whatever you go for, if it’s very sweet, consider tossing it with a little lemon juice before adding it to the dish.
That said, not every pavlova has fruit: Nigella’s cappuccino version in Nigellissima is topped only with cocoa powder.
The topping
For those in northern climes, the joy of fresh fruit is enough in itself not to require anything in the way of gilding, but unless you’re using something a bit crunchy, such as passion fruit, the flaked almonds or pistachios in Ottolenghi and Goh’s recipe add textural interest. Or, embrace decadence and shave some chocolate on top as Lawson suggests. After all, there’s no such thing as too much when it comes to pavlova.
Perfect pavlova
Prep 10 min + stewing
Cook 75 min
Serves 6
4 egg whites
¼ tsp cream of tartar, or ½ tsp lemon juice or vinegar
225g caster sugar
1 pinch salt
250ml whipping cream (or 350ml if you aren’t using yoghurt)
100ml Greek yoghurt if using sweeter fruit, otherwise, use 350ml cream
1 tsp vanilla extract
500g fruit, stewed with sugar to taste, if necessary, and cooled
1 squeeze lemon juice if using sweeter fruit
Heat the oven to 140C (120C fan)/gas 1 and line a baking tray with greaseproof paper.
Whisk the egg whites in a clean, dry, metal or glass bowl until frothy, then add the cream of tartar and whip to soft peaks. Whisk in the sugar a spoonful at a time, until thick and satiny.
Fold in the salt, then spoon the meringue on to the baking tray in a roughly 23cm circle.
Put the tray in the oven and immediately turn down the heat to 120C (100C fan)/gas low. Bake for 75 minutes – or until crisp on top but slightly squidgy in the middle when gently prodded – then turn off and leave to cool completely in the oven.
Whip the cream to soft peaks, then whisk in the yoghurt and vanilla, if using. Spoon on top of the meringue.
Cut the fruit into chunks if necessary, and toss with lemon juice if it’s very sweet. Pile on top and serve immediately.
Pavlova: Australian or Kiwi, what’s your favourite variety? Do you like them crunchy or squidgy, creamy or piled high with yoghurt, cappuccino or chilli flavoured – or are they your idea of dessert disaster?
