Both Australia and New Zealand vie for ownership of the original pavlova, created to mimic the billowing tutu of visiting Russian ballerina, Anna Pavlova. But the rift over its origin is the only point of conflict surrounding this wholly lovable dessert. Like its cousin the meringue, a pavlova is made of puffy, cloud-like egg whites, swooshed into sculpture by sugar’s hold—but unlike meringue, a pavlova has a chewy, mallow center and is made at a shareable scale. Best, really, when accompanied by the clatter of spoons at the end of a long summer dinner party.
Recently, pastry chefs have been turning to the pavlova once again—and in doing so, creating a trend for more undone, whimsical cakes. The leap from tiered sponges topped with tempered chocolate rosettes to something a little rougher around the edges makes sense for pavlova, which, even in its most perfect form, resists symmetry. At London’s Quo Vadis, chef Jeremy Lee piles big swooshes of meringue with custard, cream, fruit compotes, and fresh fruit. Despite calling them meringue tumbles, Lee agrees that a recipe that produces a “crisp shell of a meringue and a very lovely soft inside,” is best. “That’s what we love madly,” he says.
Pastry chef Lauren Schofield of Brooklyn’s Marlow Sons, who has baked pavlovas “in a range of home ovens” as many times as she has at work, explains that “pavs are wonderful to make at home because you need so few ingredients.” If you’ve been tempted by the approachable-looking cakes of Instagram—often topped with floppy blossoms and a casual shellac of frosting—and want to try your hand at a decorative dessert, start with a pavlova. You’ll get all the fun of assembly without having to, well, make a cake.
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To begin, Lee recommends that you “clear the decks,” and give yourself plenty of elbow room. Lay out your baking tray, lined with parchment, and make sure the bowl of your stand mixture is “scrupulously clean.” Any trace of oil will prevent your whites from rising adequately. He suggests a ratio of one egg to two ounces of sugar—easy enough to remember when you’re on summer holiday and far from a cookbook. A little acid, either white wine vinegar or lemon juice, will ensure that soft, chewy center.
Pavlova is a forgiving dessert, just needing a slow and low bake, which as much dehydrates the eggs as it does cook them. Schofield recommends at least two hours at 200 degrees Fahrenheit, while Paris-based pastry chef Andrea Sham suggests “going a little longer than what the recipe suggests, in most cases.” To test if yours is ready, try to lift it from the parchment. If it sticks, be patient.
Some chefs worry about the pavlova coloring due to a hot oven. But even that can be an advantage. Sham, who recently baked a pavlova for an event hosted by clothing brand Malene Birger, worked with the pale straw shade of her meringue. She filled the center with layers of pistachio cream and berry compote, then topped it with lightly sweetened cream and autumnal fruit. Gold and purple grapes, figs, and oranges were finished with a dusting of gold leaf.
I’ve never made a pavlova in a restaurant kitchen, and yet I seem to always be making one to round off big dinners for private clients or birthday parties for friends. What makes them a dream dessert is that everything can be prepped ahead of time. Make your pavlova and all your toppings (store-bought ice cream or quickly whipped cream, alongside a handful of berries, absolutely counts), and then simply assemble before dinner. I’ve made pavlovas for picnics, whipped their egg whites to stiff peaks at altitude and at sea level, and topped with everything from fresh apricots, candied hazelnuts, and a calvados cream to pulverized, dehydrated strawberries for a pink-loving kid. My only misstep was a pavlova in a balmy climate. Humid air is the enemy of a shatteringly crisp shell. (If you’re baking your pavlova pre-dinner party, keep it away from stove steam while you cook.)
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My favorite thus far has been a pavlova piled high with charred vanilla custard and grilled peaches, although I’m also planning to make Schofield’s ataulfo mango and tangerine variation, which she says tastes “like a creamsicle,” as soon as I have a party planned. Both Lee and Schofield suggest making a custard with the reserved egg yolks and then pouring that on top, with abundance. “It’s an outrageous amount of cream, even by my standards, so don’t be shy,” says Lee. “The more cream, the more fun.”
At King in New York City, pavlovas are also saved for parties. “You can do it in a single portion, but there is a greater indulgence on a greater scale,” says chef and co-owner Jess Shadbolt, adding that it’s easier to find the golden ratio of “cream, to fruit, to meringue” when generously sized. Last spring, for King’s sixth birthday party, the restaurant’s pastry chef Fiona Thomas baked a tiered pavlova 30 inches in diameter that took “six chefs to carry out,” says Shadbolt. Pavlovas ask for more, more, more: This one was loaded with sparklers in lieu of tame birthday candles, as well as late summer flowers.
But the most glorious thing about this dessert—and perhaps why it’s so appealing to home bakers and adept dinner party hosts alike—is that even at its grandest scale, the pavlova’s imperfect form doesn’t allow for any kind of staid cake-cutting. “We plonked it in the middle of the room,” says Shadbolt. “And we were just scooping it straight into paper cups and passing it around to people; it was a real moment of the party, but it was very sort of frivolous and charming.” What more could you want from a dessert than that?


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