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Meringue spot
Teacup, 53-55 Thomas Street, City, M4 1NA, 0161 832 3233. The delectable dish costs £3.
Meringue-utan
When I was a child I used to store meringues in my cheeks like squirrels are reputed to do with nuts. My Grandma made meringues of such floaty joy, such creamy wonder, I became addicted and would skip the two miles across north Rochdale from Thrum Hall to Sandy Lane with tongue lolling say, “Grandma, have you any meringues, and if you don’t I’ll cry.” She was a baking and making grandma so I was seldom disappointed. I recall my Grandad once called me a meringue-utan - I was that besotted with the things.
Silence of the meringues
Then I went to university, discovered unmapped regions of the world, crossed oceans on little more than rowing boats, worked for a bit in a cordial factory and lost my meringues. Ou est mes meringues? I would declaim. Restaurants the world over seemed to have fallen out of love with these labour intensive charmers. In my dreams I would hear meringues bleating for a return to the menu – but the menus were silent. If beetroot can have a resurgence, why not these lightest and most satisfying of desserts? It’s good to follow savoury with sweet, but if you’re too full of savoury what then? Why call for a meringue.
Meringue a trois
I called for a meringue in Teacup. There were three of us and we’d had pies, veggie chilli and bangers and mash for lunch, so the only option - unless we were to blow up like Mr Creosote in The Meringue of Life - was a meringue. This was the last one left after lunch and it was a fine looking lass too; the darling thing had already made me weak at the knees and wistful like a boy on a first date. Then it came, it soared, it conquered. Breaking the outer skin was like a foot falling into soft snow through a casing of overnight frost. Beneath was a beautiful creamy centre, while the whole was set off by a rose essence and pistachios. It was made on site and bloody lovely. ‘Know what? I’m going back tonight to say, “Teacup, have you any meringues, and if you don’t I’ll cry, for I am meringue-utan.”
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My word, someone had some serious fun writing this. Oh, how I've just chuckled into my cup o' hot chocolate.
I'm going to meringue out there
I'll meringue my hat on that
Bring back meringue-ing I say
Meringue is the love that dare not speak its name
Hell hath no fury like a meringue scorned
Glory be to God for dappled meringues...
She walks in beauty like the meringue...
They f*ck you up your mum and dad/ They may not mean to but they do./ They fill you with the meringues they had/ And give some extra just for you
It was the best of meringues, it was the worst of meringues....
Guilty meringues have no rhythm...
Papa don't preach, I'm in trouble deep
Papa don't preach, I've been losing sleep
But I made up my mind, I'm keeping my meringue, oh
I'm gonna keep my meringue, mmm...
...said follow the meringue. And don't dilly dally on the way.
Better to have loved and lost than never meringued at all....
"I meringue therefore I am".
extract from Rene Descartes pudding memoirs, popularly mistranslated as the existentialist cornerstone of Western Philosophy. I don't speak Latin but I'm pretty sure it was about meringue.
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