How very retro. Now if I could just get Don Draper to come over to share it with me.

It wasn’t to be, the rendezvous between Don and me, but the Baked Alaska turned out pretty well. I made the Brown Butter Pound Cake as instructed by the recipe Elissa posted, to the letter. Granted, I was rushed on the day I made it thanks to the party I was going to. It could have used a couple more minutes in the oven, I think, but I needed to get it to start cooling so there was a small dip in the middle of lightly undercooked cake. Maybe the undercookedness also contributed to the greasiness I felt in the cake that I’ve never found with any other pound cake I’ve ever made (not like I make it a lot). People liked it, though. I lopped off about a three-inch piece off one side and took the rest to the party where it was eaten and enjoyed. Not my best moment, but we were all a little soused and the fat in the cake helped sop up some of the alcohol.

I measured out out a piece that would fit into a little plastic container I had the next day and stuck in the freezer along with a layer of ice cream. I did not make the vanilla ice cream indicated, for the very simple reason that I’ve been working unbelievable hours and couldn’t bear to have to make a custard. I own The Perfect Scoop and made David’s slightly simpler Fleur de Lait ice cream instead. It’s one of my favorites. I had had it in the freezer poised and simply softened it the next Sunday after the hootnanny to fit over the piece of cake. I wrapped the two in plastic and left it there until the next weekend.

Since I was making a small Baked Alaska, I used only one egg white to make the meringue with rational downgrading of the rest of the ingredients. I covered the little cake in the meringue, froze it for a little while and then stuck it in the oven. I had thought of getting a torch since I didn’t think the oven would be able to brown the meringue just right. I’m glad I didn’t get one. The oven did it, look at the blackened peaks.

It may have looked better with an ice cream that created more contrast between it and the white meringue, but in my semi-delirious state, I just couldn’t be bothered. The Fleur de Lait was already made. It was delicious, but if I had to do it again, I would make that adjustment as well as making a genoise rather than a pound cake. I found the cake to be far too hard. If I let it thaw more, the ice cream would melt. Either way, I think Don would like it.

P.S. That adorable bottle out of focus behind the cake is fig jam I made with the last pound of the heavenly fruit I forced my friend to give me. That color is beautiful.

• You cannot be responsible for the thoughts and motivations of other people and you cannot keep making excuses for them.
• I rediscovered U2′s “Stay”. That band’s best songs are never their most popular.

For now, that is all.

The summer is winding down and I can’t wait for it to end. I’ve been working lawyer’s hours and am utterly exhausted. The cool of the fall won’t bring much relief thanks to the continuing baby boom, though it sounds like the hospital will finally give way and agree to pay us a little more for the incredible weight of being badly understaffed. So how am I at the end of yet another grueling season?

The Economy: The overtime pays, and I have miraculously resisted rewarding myself with out of the budget things to “reward” myself. It helps that I’m utterly exhausted. It also helps that I still don’t see the point of spending a lot on summer clothes and the iPad is monstrously overpriced. Also, I can’t put six-figure debt quite out of my mind and a paint job looms as soon as it gets cooler.

The Home Front: As alluded to above, the paint will come in with the orange leaves of the fall. I’m still on the board and we still are dealing with our non due paying neighbor. The special assessment has been collected and the plans for other work has been shared with the other owners. People haven’t beaten down my door with rotten vegetables yet. On a negative note, they closed my hardware store!

Education: I sez im happy to be dum.

Entertainment: I don’t have U2 tickets for next year’s show, or any other and I don’t much care. I had my share of garish rock concerts and the great, great lengths people will go to to be up close. I’m glad I did what I did but I have no wish of ever doing that again. Wine and cheese nights have slowly occurred. I wish I could have more of them.

The Kitchen: Stagnant. I eat a lot of omelets, rice dishes, and pasta. I realize I need to lay off the carbs. I’m too tired, really. The Fourth of July was the last time I really made anything great that wasn’t sweet. See above.

The Wild Card: Why do I get myself into these situations? Actually, I’m playing it really cool since I don’t know if it’s one of those situations or not. I hate repeats. I talk tough but I’m really just a stupid girl.

Panic Point: Bedbugs! I’m terrified of them mostly because how on my own I would be to go through the ordeal of getting rid of them. I’d rather have roaches. There, I said it, and I hate those motherf***ers.

Stuff: Another purge planned for the fall. Some of my things are showing their age badly. Out they go.

Looking Forward to: Turkey! It’s worth the bedbug risk. Struggling through Orhan Pamuk’s Snow and a tiny language primer.

And that, is the state of the union. Back to your regularly scheduled lives.

I heard intriguing, unsolicited news, went to the newest hot spot in University City (they don’t call me the unofficial MC for nothing), booked the long-awaited trip to Turkey, cashed in on last week’s interminable work hours, heard the most horrifying OR True Story ever, caught an unsolicited glimpse of the other locker room with blush-inducing results, and have learned to say “hello” in Turkish. My stock is up, but something’s amiss and it reminds me of two years ago and then I wonder how I always manage to get myself into these situations.

Lately, my off days once again consist of the conflict of being happy to get extra sleep yet regret at being away from the action. Christ.

I’ve been wanting to go to that city since I read a history of it and as I read the passage concerning the sacking of Constantinople by the Turks and came to the realization that that was fear, I’ve been wanting to go. Once Byzantium under the Greeks, then Constantinople under the Romans the capital of the Eastern Empire, and then finally, Istanbul. Hagia Sophia. The Bosphorus. The Golden Horn. Caesar tearing through its plains in hot pursuit of Pompey. Alexander slashing the Gordion Knot as he brought the East under his heel. The sultans in their palaces. Scimitars and horsemen. Bazaars and baklava. The Call to Prayer. Minarets. A stone’s throw away from the Cradle of Civilization that I can only hope will simmer down in my lifetime so I can see that, too. This is my first foray into the exotic, mysterious lands of the East.

I will be buying a handy guide to Turkish. I have two months to get up to speed, but in a way, I’ve been preparing for this trip my entire life.

Finally, a recipe fit for this heat wave… No, wait. A heat wave is like a gust of hot weather that rolls through the warm summer like a tidal wave and leaves sweaty, dehydrated people in its wake. It has a distinct beginning and most importantly, a distinct end. What has been going on here on the Eastern seaboard has no end. The sweltering weather hasn’t broken. All we do is sweat and sweat and sweat. I can’t remember the last time I sat in the park to read. Those who gaffawed about the cold winter “proving that there is no such thing as global warming” have been silenced. Climate studies and political leanings aside, we all agree that it’s goddamn hot and there is no way on Earth I will turn on that oven for something more than a few minutes in this weather. I want nothing interfering with my hard working air conditioning.

Thank God the wise Sunita chose a treat for this mad weather. The only baked thing was the cake. Others posted having difficulties with the cake cracking, I was bound and determined that it would turn out right the first time or not at all. I had to look at that part of the recipe through a magnifier to make sure I got it right. The first problem was the pan size. Since my jelly roll pans measure 15×11, not the 11×9 called for in the recipe, I had to do some hard number crunching to arrive at a recipe that called for amounts that would fit with the pan size (40% larger) without affecting the thickness of the cake or the baking times. I also only made one cake rather than two and used my souffle dish for the final construction. I didn’t make it chocolate since I’m actually kind of chocolated out after the last few challenges.

The cake turned out beautifully. I beat the whites and yolks separately and rolled the cake right out of the oven in a towel and left it to cool. It never split. It was a light, beautiful sponge that provided a nice foil to the trio of iced desserts that went with it. Instead of the plain whipped cream filling suggested in the recipe, I made strawberry frozen yogurt with the last of the fresh berries and used that to fill the roll. I wrapped it and froze it overnight to set.

The next day, I used half a recipe of David Lebovitz’s Fresh Apricot Ice Cream for the topmost layer. While I thank Sunita for the recipe, David Lebovitz is the god of ice creams and I used his fantastic The Perfect Scoop and Ready for Dessert for the ice creams.

I didn’t have a clear idea of what kind of a theme, if you will, I was going for with the dessert. I went more with what was in season and in the markets than some clear idea like German Chocolate Cake theme or something. That being said, it turned out to be a kind of icy Sachertorte with Strawberries. Sunita’s simple chocolate sauce went in the middle. I made it with Valrhona dark chocolate powder and it froze up almost like a chocolate sorbet. The last ice cream was the best, Lebovitz’s Caramel Ice Cream from Ready for Dessert. That ice cream is phenomenal. I’ll have to make it again just to have. The once downside was the caramelized sugar increases the ice cream’s freezing point and it was the first to get soft and melt. You can see it in the second picture above. The cake has scarcely been out of the fridge and that ice cream is already melting all over the cutting board. It made for a weak final layer on the cake. Another minus is that it never freezes too hard and that makes it far too easy to eat straight out of the container with a guilty spoon. But it is delicious and worth every calorie-laden spoonful. It’s better than anything they have at the Franklin Fountain and that’s saying a lot.

I took the cake to work where it was met with rave reviews and nary a crumb was left. Another perk of the challenge is the introduction of swiss rolls into my baking repertoire. Filled with jam and topped with a simple frosting or just a dusting of sugar, they’re a nice easy dessert to have in the freezer for company. Hoo-ray.

Univision played this after the last match and I wished as I watched it that I could keep it because it was the best, most fitting ending to the best thing in sports. Finally, someone posted it on YouTube. Too bad the still is of the Dutch John Barrymore.

This year, Pioneer Day weekend is a true long one and I haven’t thought of the holiday for a few years now. Today, I had the day off, the first Friday off all month. I had espied it from the relentless days of the hottest June I remember and made a spa appointment to take advantage of the three days. What good are massages if you have to go to work the next day? I got a full 90″. And no, I didn’t feel like it was too long. It was just right and I may give up facials just so I can get the 90″ massage. After the spa, I went to the local Nicole Miller to shop for a dress for a September wedding. One dress was okay but then I thought people from work will be there and it was more like a hot date dress and not a dress to be seen in when around co-workers. I hated the rest of the dresses. What good is a sale if you don’t like what they’re selling? My mission continues.

After that, I walked slowly though the hot streets to the Garces Trading Company. I wanted to see if they had new wines in their store. I had nearly settled on a verdejo, even if it’s a seafood type of wine and I’m not into seafood much, when I saw a small row of rosés by the sparklers. A Spanish rosé with 50% Garnacha and 50% Tempranillo called out to me. It was a beautiful strawberry color and promised more weight than the Provençal rosés. I asked the woman but she hadn’t tried it. I have it in the fridge now. It looks beautiful and at only $10 how can you go wrong?

I was hungry after that and went back to Old City to Amada for lunch. Their tuna salad is not what you think. It had a tangle of frisee expertly dressed and decorated with some crisp haricot vert. The tuna salad didn’t have a whisper of mayo and was mounded generously on three slices of bread painted with fresh tomato. The tuna was bonito, heavy with olive oil and salted just like I like it, which is generously. Oh, delish. I had this with a glass of rosé cava since it’s still a wine that’s hard to find in this town. A perfect summer lunch. The tuna salad is a steal at $8 and if you have no alcohol, you could eat at one of the city’s finest for $10. The food trucks sell a styrofoam box worth of greasy street food for $7ish. Think about it. Thanks, Chef.

Second Street is home to The Book Trader, one of the city’s best used book shops. It’s packed full of books, books on every subject, books from one end to the other, high over your head, in tight corners, all those thousands of pages yellowing as you read the spines. There’s no AC, just a few fans churning mightily in the heat. The guys at the front were processing more books and talking about Glenn Beck. I’m so glad the Book Trader moved from horrid South Street to my beautiful neighborhood. I found a Complete Works of William Shakespeare in a modern printing for $10. The second floor has all the literature and I boldly went up even if the heat smacks you in the face as soon as you step off the staircase. Warm air rises… The smell of books is more pronounced up there thanks to the heat and the windows being closed. I stumbled upon the mystery section and book I had been wanting to read since I saw it reviewed in a publication years ago when it first came out, The Amber Room. It’s supposed to be wicked hot tomorrow and reading an art crime book that’s short on the Great Literature aspect might be just the ticket. It’s too hot for the end of Karamazov.

The books were furiously heavy and so was the wine by then, but I managed to make it over to the Franklin Fountain for some ice cream. I have never been disappointed there but I was today. I got a small Rum Raisin to go. There were raisins in the smooth ice cream but the rum was difficult to find at all and my scoop was so way tiny, I may consider avoiding that particular worker from now on out. Other people’s were way bigger than mine and they also had smalls. Wench. That place still reigns supreme as far as their perfect, sophisticated pistachio ice cream. It’s their best, though Cherry Vanilla with the ridiculous, no-corn-syrup anywhere hot fudge comes in a close second. I may only order those two things from them from now on. It’s way too expensive there to have something that is not perfection.

I came home with my bags where I will lie on the couch and watch TV. What a great day off.

Is it really over? How can early morning games not be there? What will I do now that I’m not burning my eyes out on a TV screen or a computer screen watching games, replays, reading up on everyone. How cruel that it’s only every four years, but it means more because it is. The greatest event in sports draws to a close, the only one besides the odd Olympics and March Madness that I can manage to care about. The weight of history behind very match. The patience of such a game. The planning. The agony. The ridiculously attractive teams (yeah, it’s important to the female crowd so shut up). It’s all over.

On the last day, I had spent all day at work and barely managed to get myself released so I could tune in on Univision.com. I watched most of the match kneeling in front of my computer. It was far from a classic match with the dirty play early on dictating how the rest of the match would be played. There were a lot of Spanish chances and some clean Dutch chances that were not converted. Oh, the agony! But Spain prevailed on the back of a shot by Andres Iniesta who for the third time in the match had a clear shot and had wasted the two previous by waiting too long to shoot. They will run all night through the streets of Madrid tonight… less so in Catalonia. ¡Viva España! The larger part of the Americas celebrates with you tonight, like the Univision commentator said (paraphrased), “Wherever there is a Hernandez, a Ramirez, a Perez, all over the world, they celebrate.”

And now, with FIFA handing out its end of tournament individual prizes, I want in. Here’s my humble version:

MVP: An MVP is someone who means to most to his individual team. Diego Forlan was that man for unheralded Uruguay. Without him in the mix, they were nothing. No other player’s loss would have been felt more on the pitch. As someone wrote, who knows what he would have done if he’d been born a few miles southwest. David Villa is a strong runner up since it was his finishing that delivered Spain into the semis before he was hurt by the new formation upon Del Bosque pulling Torres from the lineup.

The How-To-Lose Award: Germany. They deserved to go to the final at least and it was only thanks to some unfortunate way the draw was made up and some early flameouts by big teams that they ended up playing the superior Spain in the semis and not in the finals, where it should have been. The real final was the semi between Spain and Germany. Classy words by Joachim Low after that match. Immense dignity from all the young players and some of the older leaders. This is how you lose. Germany historically would be a team I would never root for, but this one almost made me want to. They have years, though. They’re so ridiculously young. I imagine they’ll win a World Cup yet and I won’t begrudge them it and neither should you.

The Never Say Die Award: Uruguay. They went down fighting to the Netherlands and simply refused to give up. You don’t often see furious rallies in football simply because of the difficulty of scoring a goal, but that match came close.

The Zinedine Zidane Controversy Award: This is given to the player whose action on the pitch had tongues wagging more than the actual match in question: Luis Suarez, whose handball is still being replayed on ESPN. Nothing may ever match the infamous headbutt but Suarez came the closest this World Cup with his deliberate handball against Ghana that got him sacked from the game and the next, but it gave his team a chance. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done otherwise.

The Miss Congeniality Award: This is awarded to the team that showed the scrappiest sportsmanship and had the unlikeliest rooting for them. The United States. Thanks, guys, for making us look good in the eyes of the world who tends to hate US supercilious, ignorant behavior. You actually got 19 million of your countrymen to watch the game against Ghana, making a sport with no timeouts and minimal commercial breaks for a moment popular in an infamously attention-bereft nation.

The Showmanship Award: Argentina. So offensive-minded that they lead the tournament in goals scored while still in it before being rubbed out by Germany. All of their supporters knew they had a weak back line but what did it matter when they scored goal after goal after goal. Little Leo Messi slicing up midfields to feed his strikers goals on a silver platter, doing for them what Xavi and Iniesta do for him in Barcelona. Maradona on the sidelines looking like a benevolent Santa Claus of sorts, kissing all his players, cheering everything, spewing out quotable line after quotable line. Is was pure theatre. But if you live by the sword, you also die by it. They paid for their lack of defense but once gone, they were the team most missed.

The Goal of the Tournament: Let’s face it, there were a lot of great goals scored. There always are and it’s hard to nail one down, so I had to base it on the one that got me off the couch with a loud exclamation. That goal would have to be Carlos Tevez’ second goal against Mexico. It was a perfect kick and the power, passion, and drive he got off that perfect kick while also silencing any nannering about the first goal went unequaled in the rest of the tournament. Messi may be the head of the Albicelestes but Tevez is the heart and in those seconds, he proved it. It’s uncanny how the goal of the last tournament in Germany 2006 was eerily similar and also by an Argentine (Maxi Rodriguez) against, who else, Mexico. Honorable mention would have to goal to David Villa against Honduras, that sliding beauty that beat three defenders and the keeper.

The John Barrymore Award: This one’s not a positive one and it goes to Arjen Robben. I lost all respect for him and his Dutch teammates and possibly his whole frigging country for his clowning around that nearly ruined the final. Just play ball, jackass. A columnist called his faking injury “Robben falling like a clubbed seal”. Great simile. I was disappointed to find out the man is only 26 (though he looks 40) and we’ll have to see his crap in Brazil in 2014. Team Ghana is a runner up. Why they became such a darling of the tournament is beyond me.

The Walk of Shame Award: France, everything about them.

The Biggest Big-Name Flop: I have yet to see any brilliance out of Cristiano Ronaldo. If he wants to play by himself, he went into the wrong sport.

Most Missed: I loved Fernando Torres in 2006, all blonde hair and bravado. Where was he? Nowhere. He hurt his team and looked a moment away from tears throughout the tournament. I kept hoping for something but it never came.

Grandest Entrance: I had never heard of David Villa before this tournament. in Germany 2006, work prevented me from watching a lot of the Spain games and out of them, I remember Torres the most. But King David burst on the scene in a big way by single-footedly keeping Spain in this thing until someone else stepped up to score. And he’s 5’9″. None of his goals were easy tap-ins, they required creativity and doggedness. Brilliant. Viva Villa. Juan Carlos owes him a drink.

The Jon Stewart Media Award: Univision. Thank you for saving us from the sterile ESPN coverage with their tap-water-in-the-veins British commentators and their clueless American sidekicks. Thanks for airing the games online (ABC is stupid). Thanks for the *love* of football. Thanks for the asides, for the heartfelt valedictions, for the heated arguments, for the real feel of football.

Thanks, South Africa, for hosting. Thanks for the 32 teams for showing up. Thanks to FIFA for arranging it. The one good thing about this wild, beautiful month being over is I will no longer have to hear whining about officiating, suggestions for rule changes, or the idiotic drone of the vuvuzelas.

Goodbye, thanks for the game.

Intrigue, excitement, last-minute dives, saves, and general madness and mayhem. This is why the World Cup is the greatest sports event on earth. It’s getting heart-breaking, though. In the two days between the last of the group games leading into the quarterfinals, I had dozens of conversations about all the teams and all the stars and all the possibilities. The one comment that stands out the most for me is, “There are a lot of good teams left, too bad someone has to lose.” Eight left among 32 who qualified for the tournament out of dozens the world over who did not. Those teams are pretty damn good and it’s a pity someone has to come away the winner. In a game like football where every goal is so precious and thousands of small heroics are invisible in the final tally at the end of a match, fates are decided by the smallest of things and often the most controversial.

The Netherlands, revitalized by the reappearance of its star Arjen Robben (a man who looks a full decade older than he is), stunned Brazil who couldn’t handle the pressure and went down in a blaze of panic. Then, that same afternoon Uruguay and Ghana locked horns in a game that went down to the wire of extra time before a surreal turn of events pushed it into a penalty kick shootout. Suarez is out for the next game. People are crying foul that Ghana was robbed, but really, the rule book states what is to happen in that situation and that’s what was done. The Ghana star missed the penalty kick (more a test of nerves than anything else) and hello PK shootout. I hate penalty kick shootouts as much as anyone, but really, what’s the alternative? You can’t continue to add extra time onto exhausted players.

I didn’t want to watch ARG v. GER because I thought it was far too early in the tournament for these teams to meet to produce a winner and a loser. I thought this was almost like a final. I guess I thought wrong. Germany, continuing to look ruthless, ripped Argentina to shreds, exposing what all us Albiceleste supporters have known but cheerfully ignored– that back line was weak and wouldn’t last a moment under serious pressure. They took the Argentines out of their stylish, cheerful attacking game and stabbed early, survived a good Argentina spell, and then whisked the game away. It wasn’t even close those last few minutes. Spain survived an obsessive Paraguay defense with a story line that though previously trod, still looks great at the end. The name is Villa, David Villa and it’s his amazing ability to finish against long odds that have kept the Euro champs in this thing.

Germany owes whoever ended Michael Ballack’s season free beer for a year. Spain owes David Villa a crown. The two meet on Wednesday for the second semifinal. I’m with Spain since they’re the last of the four teams I picked as my “to follow” lot on the ESPN FIFA app for iPhone/ iPod, even though I’m afraid this is a match they can’t win.

Still, VIVA VILLA.

P.S. Dear Del Bosque, please bench Fernando Torres and play someone else for the next match. Anyone. They’re playing with 10 men with him on the field. Loved him in 2006, but he’s just not with it this time.

I’m tired off all the articles bewailing England’s fall in South Africa. I don’t want to hear anything more about that missed goal as if that would have turned the entire game around. I don’t want to hear the gnashing of teeth and tearing of hair and the calls for people to be fired and stripped of their citizenship or the calls for heads that are all over the British press.

England was an overrated team and only advanced because of an easy draw. Shut up already. Deal with it.

Germany exposed them for what they are. They made them look fat, they made them look old, and they made them look boring. England didn’t play *horribly*. Playing horribly means that you as a team didn’t play to your standards, that you were way off your par. Well, they just got exposed that’s what. This team was never as good as they were led to believe they were. That’s gotta hurt.

That being said, I’ll be damned if I ever cheer for a German team and I’m not going to start now. But the current national team is good and now, England knows it.

The Berry Chocolate Pavlova

Let me get one thing straight. I love chocolate as much as the next person but I couldn’t help raising an eyebrow when I saw the pictures of this month’s challenge. Brown meringue. Brown mousse. No relief in sight. And then I read the recipes. I think I felt some chest pain. Below are the lists of ingredients per section of the challenge:

Recipe 1: Chocolate Meringue (for the chocolate Pavlova):

3 large egg whites
½ cup plus 1 tbsp (110 grams) white granulated sugar
¼ cup (30 grams) confectioner’s (icing) sugar
1/3 cup (30 grams) cocoa powder

Recipe 2: Chocolate Mascarpone Mousse (for the top of the Pavlova base):

1 ½ cups (355 mls) heavy cream (cream with a milk fat content of between 36 and 40 percent)
grated zest of 1 average sized lemon
9 ounces (255 grams) 72% chocolate, chopped
1 2/3 cups (390 mls) mascarpone (don’t forget we made this a few months ago – get the printable .pdf HERE)
pinch of nutmeg
2 tbsp (30 mls) Grand Marnier (or orange juice)

Recipe 3: Mascarpone Cream (for drizzling):

1 recipe crème anglaise
½ cup (120 mls) mascarpone
2 tbsp (30 mls) Sambucca (optional)
½ cup (120 mls) heavy cream

Recipe 4: Crème Anglaise (a component of the Mascarpone Cream above):

1 cup (235 mls) whole milk
1 cup (235 mls) heavy cream
1 vanilla bean, split or 1 tsp pure vanilla extract
6 large egg yolks
6 tbsp (75 grams) sugar

See what I mean? I knew it was going to have to make some changes.

I slowly shop for ingredients throughout the month for a Daring Bakers challenge and it lined up so I had everything ready on the 21st, a day boasting of the summer solstice, Spain v. Honduras, and a day of suffocating humidity in the city. I will admit I made the chocolate mousse the day before since it seemed like it would survive refrigeration without any bad side effects. I made 1/3 of the recipe.

The chocolate mousse is underway.

On the 21st, I came home from the gym and took the eggs out of the fridge and then made myself lunch. It didn’t take long for the eggs to warm up and I used two for the meringue since I wasn’t planning on making the whole recipe, but I love meringue so I made a little of of that part of it than the cream products. At the same time, with the two yolks, I made 1/3 of the recipe for the creme anglaise. And then the unthinkable happened. Sit down for the revelation. I broke the cream. I have never ruined a custard. EVER. I blame it on being distracted with the meringue, my goat cheese panino I was making, and washing the dishes. It was find when I added everything back to the pan with the eggs appropriately tempered. It must have boiled too fast. I hate wasting food. It’s an offense that should be punishable by, if not death, then something. I bend over backwards to not throw food away and have become adept at all kinds of Old World ways of saving produce and leftovers etc. But I had to throw this out. It looked like baby vomit and there was no saving it. It broke my heart, but there you have it.

The match was starting and I threw the meringue in the oven for its long, slow bake. Just after David Villa slammed the first goal home, I felt energized enough to try it again. This time, since it was the only food product I was making at the time, it came off without a hitch. I made a 1/6 of that recipe and finished it with some Creme de Cacao since I had no Sambuca and no wherewithal to drag myself to the state store just for that. The heat was positively withering.

My mother has made pavlovas as far back as I can remember and has always topped them with a simple topping of whipped cream and plentiful fruit. I made my pavlova in the spirit of that recipe. Unlike the challenge recipe, I made one and not many small ones. I hate individual servings of things, finding it far too fussy, something akin to doillies or “tablescapes”. Nigella Lawson agrees with me. See her recipe for creme brulee in Domestic Goddess. I also believe in baking but hate washing up and will take all kinds of shortcuts to not use too many dishes. Needless to say, I didn’t go near my piping bag and just freehanded it. I added some chocolate powder to the meringue, but only enough to turn it a light shade of sunkissed, not dark brown. I didn’t measure, I just sprinkled until it looked good to me. Thanks to the humidity, it turned out a little sticky when it was done, but not too bad.

I added a couple of sprinklings of milk to the mousse to soften it up enough to scoop out since it had been in the fridge overnight. It’s a smaller proportion than what the recipe calls for but lighter is better. I topped the pavlova with plentiful raspberries and blueberries, the first of the season. They should be the centerpiece of a pavlova, not the cream. I topped that with the other cream and then topped that with a few smashed brazil nuts. Almonds would have been better but I didn’t have any, so there.

A cross section of the pav.

Verdict: I didn’t like this recipe. I thought it was unnecessarily rich. Heavy cream lightly sweetened and then whipped makes a great contrast to the crunch to the sweet, brittle meringue. The fruit should be the star of the show. The addition of the mascarpone gave it an added richness and thickness I thought was unnecessary and unpleasant, but then this is coming from someone who abhors America-style cheesecake. It’s the summer. It’s hot, humid, merciless, and yet the fruit is starting to pop up in the markets. I wish the recipe chosen for this month would keep some of that in mind. I think I made the right choice by cutting a lot of the creams in amount and increasing the proportion of meringue and fruit. When will someone pick ice cream and a vessel to serve it in? I’d be all over that. As consolation, I made Raspberry Rose Sorbet from the great David Lebovitz’s The Perfect Scoop.