It is 1am, again, and here I am 24 hours later, wondering what this all means. It was only last night my peaks(for my meringue, of course)were too stiff and yet only hours ago my peaks were not stiff enough, c’est la vie. However, tonight instead of throwing my fists up in anger, I baked them.
I buttered my $3 cookie sheets, I squeezed little swirls out of my home-made plastic bag/pastry bag (sans star tip) and I popped them into my circa ’50′s oven at 275° for 35 minutes. When I pulled out my trays, with cupcake tins standing ready as makeshift wire-racks for cooling, I saw huge disks of what should have been meringue kisses. They were slightly crinkled and brown but they were whole and shiny. I situated each on an upside down muffin tin and waited. After a while, I lost track of time on some website, reading about dear Ms. Murphy (R.I.P. Brittany, you will be remembered…and oh by the way, “my buns, they don’t feel nothin’ like steel.”) but when I did pull my self away, I picked up one beige-ish sugary confection and closed my eyes. I bit down and behold, the crunch was sensational.
Here’s a picture of the meringue mishaps (sorry about the pictures, all I’ve got is my cellphone camera as I dropped my brand spanking new Canon in Venice over the summer when I got overly-excited at a fireworks display (whoops!).
Underneath the shiny shell was this beautiful creamy glue of meringue (mmm, mmm, gooood). As I began to experiment with the rest of my test batch, breaking some just to see the center, many of which had none (oops!), and licking others to see if the almond-vanilla taste came through, I decided this wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened because, as I bit down into the quasi-good meringues, I felt a surge to do it all again and continue until one batch just might come out looking spectacular, making my sweet tooth scream for sugar heaven and this brought a smile to my face.
The idea that I could keep on going and trying, made all of my unrelenting doubts and worries about not being able to hold up against the rest, seem oddly ok. There is, afterall, always tomorrow and the next day, and doing this before I even go to culinary school and really see what tough is, will just continue to spur my drive (at least I hope). Or if worst comes to worst, I can just get nice and plump and finally land me a man! (as my mother so dearly wishes) Well, all jokes aside, all is well for the moment and isn’t that all anyone can ask for? Nighty night…
