A few days ago I was flicking through the paper when I spotted a
little ad for the Nosh pavlova competition. Ah yes, the great annual pavlova comp. I’d
entered last year – naturally, as it was in the throes of my quest to become
Baker Queen. I remember walking in with my sugary white concoction and placing
it among what looked like a cover shoot for some meringue enthusiast magazine.
I remember the lady saying condescendingly, “Well, I'm sure it tastes good, dear.” Unsurprisingly I didn’t
hear back from Nosh. And they lost my platter.
This year, I was better prepared. Disposable tray at the
ready, I set about making my pavlova creation: a three layered pav with
homemade lemon curd cream and blueberries between each layer and on top. I made
the pavlovas (pavlovai? plural of pavlova anyone?) last night but got tired of
waiting for them to cool so left them in the oven overnight. This morning,
before the school/pre-school run, I whipped and swirled and drizzled and
generally felt quite Nigella-like (apart from the cocaine addiction bit of
course) as I put the finishing touches and then I played my trump card:
“Neil, could you please enter this pavlova at the Nosh
competition for me?”
I’d done my homework. Neil has Tuesday mornings off work
(which, to digress for a second, is rather disconcerting to anyone who calls
round our house at that time because, as I work from home, they are confronted with two, perfectly
healthy, young, of-working-age professionals, seemingly childless, sitting at
home on a Tuesday morning; you can almost see them fighting not to yell “dole
bludgers!” at us). Normally Neil would be out cycling to prepare for the big
Taupo bike race, but as the race was on Saturday (he did it in just over 5 hours –
go Manlet!) he had no reason to be out on his bike again just yet.
Annnd, I knew he needed to go to sort out something for the
kitchen at a shop just down the road from Nosh. See, homework – done. Some might call it manipulative and conniving. I call it well played.
So, poor Neil really had little choice to respond to my
request with a dull “yes”, that reminded me of that guy from the DB Export ad (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwOxqBOYdiI )
which takes viewers back to the 1980s when beer was “out” and wine was “in” and
a girl says to her partner, “Hey hon, want some wine?” to which her long suffering
partner says in a pained voice, “yeees”.
For those who have no idea what I’m talking about (check out the ad link above - it's hilarious), suffice
to say a little part of Neil's masculinity died as he trudged off to his car with
a towering fruity meringue in tow.
That was the last I saw of my perky little pavlova, but he must have
duly delivered it, because this afternoon I received the words anyone
would be delighted to hear: “You’ve won a year’s supply of eggs”.
Yes, my pav came second. Music please. I hadn’t officially closed the door
on my baking escapades, but I had let the oven gloves slide a bit farther in
the drawer. My little eggy adventure has inspired me to get them out again.
TTFN x
Good to have you back Jude x
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