Light as a feather

            I’m not sure why I think of birds when I ponder meringue cookies. Perhaps it’s the cookie’s more elegant title, Pavlova, named for the Russian ballerina, that conjures serene scenes of Swan Lake. More likely this regal title sounds to me like a combination of palvo and pájaro, the Spanish words for turkey and bird, respectively. Or maybe it’s the cookie's simple white and airy shape that just looks so elegant, and vaguely birdlike.

That graceful association (cookie-bird-dancer) is gone forever, I’m afraid, banished from memory yesterday while waiting for the D-train. I was talking to Zach on the phone at the time. Truthfully, I was doing a bit of complaining—it had not been a great day, one where roommate’s and co-workers’ attitudes had bumped up against my own in an unpopular way, and as a result I was feeling a bit unpopular myself. In an exasperated gesture of why? or maybe it was when? as in when will I feel better about this? I extended my left hand, palm-up, in frustration. And that’s when a certain warmth came over me.

At first I thought it was a sign, a heavenly symbol of calm, but then I remembered I don’t believe in stuff like that, and the reality dawned on me as I turned slowly to look at my hand. A sign from above, indeed, a passing bird had marked me with surprising accuracy.

To his credit, I don’t think Zach laughed. Had the situation been reversed, I would not have had the willpower to stifle the giggles, nor the resolve not to point out the irony of well-timed bird feces in an already crappy day. Zach had enough sense to simply stay on the line as I all but climbed into my backpack at the train-stop, frantically looking for a tissue, paper napkin, or the extra shirt I’d thought to toss into the bottom of the bag that morning. Though friends have told me what good luck it is to have this sort of avian encounter, birds and a certain shirt are now, quite literally, on my shit list. My relationship to the cookies, I think, will recover. They’re just too fluffy, feather light, and sweet not to forgive, eventually, for their unfortunately, birdlike, appearance.

           

Meringue Kisses

A classic recipe from The Joy of Cooking

Makes about thirty 1 1/2-inch crispy cookies,
or a baker's dozen 3 inch cookies with a bit of bite

Ingredients:

3 egg whites

1/4 tsp cream of tartar

1/8 tsp salt

3/4 cup sugar

3/4 tsp vanilla

Set the oven at 225. Line 2 cookie sheet with parchment paper. Ignore the part in the recipe that says “or just leave ungreased.” I assure you, just because you think you’re a good person for not using the parchment and saving the environment from just a bit more trash, the cookies will not unadhere themselves from said pan in agreement with your waste-not morals. Parchment or silpat are required.

Beat the egg whites, cream of tartar, and salt in a medium bowl on low speed until foamy.

Increase the speed to high and beat until the egg whites just begin to form soft peaks.

Gradually add in the sugar, beating until well combined.

Reduce the speed to low again and add in the vanilla.

Beat until the meringue is glossy and stands in very stiff peaks.

Using a pastry bag or a plastic bag with the bottom corner snipped off, pipe the batter into 1 1/4-inch kisses about 1 inch apart on the cookie sheet. Or, simply drop heaping teaspoonfuls of the batter into peaked mounds.

Bake for 45 minutes, rotating the sheets at the halfway point if you don’t have a convection oven.

Turn the heat off and let the cookies stand in the hot oven for another 30 minutes or until fully cool.

I like to make my cookies just a bit bigger so the outside gets perfectly crunchy but the inside has a slight, silky chew. Chopped almonds, hazelnuts, and bits of bittersweet chocolate are lovely additions. Just gently fold in the add-ins after the peaks have formed and drop the batter by the spoonful. To make chocolate kisses, add in 3 tablespoons of cocoa powder along with the sugar.

This is what happens when you neglect the part about parchment paper in the instructions...

...the feather soft structure of the cookies just doesn't quite hold up to the moral integrity of your no-waste ethics as you scrape Pavlovas from the pan. Delicious, though, even when crumbly.