Tropical Mess

I have had a deep and committed love affair with meringue for as long as I can remember – meringue and I, we go way back. From the time I was a little girl, any dessert with meringue was the epitome of sophistication in my unsophisticated eyes. Two desserts stand out in my memory – Chocolate Meringue Gateau, a towering confection of chocolate cream and meringue layers, which was the dessert of choice in Colombo households in the 90s. The other was a delicate creation of my grandmother's – mini meringue nests in which dollops of lemon curd and cream nestled, cushioning slices of mango, peach or other fruit.

Fast forward 20+ years, and my relationship with meringue has stood the test of time. I use meringue in pavlovas – of course, because, how can one not, having lived in Australia for 15 years. But my favourite meringue-based dessert is  Eton Mess which has become something of a signature dish for me. A traditional Eton Mess is literally a muddle of crumbled meringue, cream and strawberries folded together. Mine deviates slightly from the traditional recipe which, if it isn’t hyperbolic to say so, blows it out of ‘great’ and into ‘phenomenal’ territory. It is the perfect summer dessert, and now that I live in Sri Lanka, where it is hot and humid all year round, I find myself turning to it again and again. It deserves its own post, which will come later.

Notwithstanding my unwavering loyalty to meringues, as anyone in an abiding relationship knows, it never hurts to spice things up from time to time, to keep the flame alive. And so, every so often, we play dress up. I have had this idea for a tropical twist on the classic Eton Mess for a long time. Having relocated to a tropical island seemed as good a reason as any to get creative and give this variation a whirl, so here we are.

I have tried MANY recipes and techniques for meringue over the years. While meringues are quite easy to make, a really great one takes a bit of practice. What’s a great meringue? For me, it’s a dry, crispy outer shell, encasing a marshmellowy interior, with just a hint of chewiness. The balance of textures is as crucial as the taste, which shouldn’t be toothache-inducingly sweet. I find the egg white to sugar ratio suggested by Yotam Ottolenghi in his self-titled book to yield the correct amount of sweetness. His technique of heating up the sugar before adding it to the egg whites helps the sugar to dissolve completely, ensuring none of that sticky, sugary syrup weeps out while the meringues are cooking. I add a smidgeon of corn flour and white wine vinegar which keeps the insides light and also contributes to that chewiness I mentioned. The result of a few minutes’ vigorous whisking is a billowing, glossy mass of meringue which feels as dense as if it could bear my weight (though I have never put that particular experiment to the test). Baked until dry and firm on the outside, the result is a crispy exterior which gives way to a pillowy centre, soft as an angel's pillow.

My Tropical Mess is inspired by my grandmother’s dessert. I use a mix of whipped cream and Greek yoghurt or buffalo curd (whipped until floppy), to balance the sweetness of the meringue, as well as silky, home-made lemon curd. My fruit of choice is gorgeous ripe mango and passion fruit. The combination is divine – the ethereally light centre of the meringue melds with the cream and yoghurt while retaining its own unique texture. More textural interest comes from the outer shell of the meringue which cracks and crumbles into the softer ingredients. The bright, fresh lemon curd looks and tastes wonderful, marbled through the other ingredients, adding a citrusy tang. The crowning glory is the perfectly ripe, golden mango and the zingy passionfruit pulp, complete with crunchy seeds. The fresh fruit cuts through the sweetness and richness of the other ingredients.

Paradoxical though it might seem, I like to serve this Tropical Mess un-messed, with the meringues cleanly sliced in two, the three fillings spooned inside and the fruit arranged artfully on top. There is nothing more satisfying than creating your own Mess, so to speak – I love hearing the first crack of the meringue shell as its shatters under the sharp tap of my spoon and the surprise of the fillings inside which marble through the dish when released from their confines inside the meringue.

This is a wonderfully balanced dessert, in terms of both flavour and texture – crispy, chewy, marshmellowy, sweet (but not overly so), tangy, fruity – and, despite its many elements, it still manages to remain light and lovely. No one I have served this to, has ever left any of their portion uneaten, even after the heaviest of main courses... which, to me, is undeniable proof of the pudding.