On the subject of pavlova.

Pavlova is my absolute favourite pudding, both for eating and for making. It's a show-off dessert that's almost impossible to ruin (although I have managed it, more on that later): oohs and aahs are the automatic and appropriate response to its appearance at any table.

It is generally considered a summer dessert, but I think that's only because in England we typically serve it with summer fruits. Really, adjusting the flavours means there is no time of year that cannot be pavlova time. I have made pavlovas for Christmas and Easter, summer barbecues and January dinner parties. The simplicity of the concept allows for a lot of experimentation and adaptation within those boundaries: provided there is meringue, whipped cream and fruit, it's a pavlova. Unless it all goes horribly wrong, in which case it's an Eton mess. As problems go, it's a good one.

The meringue

The key to any pavlova is the meringue. When I lived in New Zealand I tried the Antipodean version - they would say original. There, the barest whisper of a shell encases a squashy cloud of marshmallow. "Squashy" is a promising adjective for most puddings, but in the case of pavlova I think of it as only one third of a holy trinity: squashy, crispy and chewy. Moreover, the inherent squashiness of the whipped cream means the meringue should really focus on bringing the textures of crispy and chewy.

These days I almost always construct pavlova from multiple small meringues rather than a single nest: they take less time to cook; they can be layered with fruit and cream to create a positively mountainous pudding for even quite a small number of people; they can be piped or coloured separately if you have time on your hands and are feeling fancy; and it mitigates the inevitable horror of watching your beautiful creation ruined when people actually go to eat it.

Colour

Supermarket meringues always seem to be pure white, and dry as dust. Whilst dessication was not a quality I ever sought to mimic, I always wanted to know the secret to snowy meringues. Eventually, I found it, and it's very simple: white caster sugar; a very low oven - as low as your oven will function; and a lot of time.

Why did it take me so long to work it out? I blame Delia. Her strawberry pavlova was the first recipe I ever made, and she recommends both golden caster sugar and a positively scorching oven temperature of 140 degrees for one hour. There is no way the sugar will not caramelise in that time, turning the meringue a pale, blushing gold.

However, once I finally did figure out how to make snowy meringues, I realised Delia was right all along: lacking the caramelisation, white meringues are insipidly sweet. With the possible exception of chocolate, any additional flavourings will always be enhanced by the extra burst of heat. These days I only use white sugar and a super-low oven if I am using food dye and want to preserve the colour.

On the matter of artificial colouring; I have yet to master Bake-Off style stripy meringues. The result of painting the interior of a piping bag with dye has only ever been alarming, as undiluted colours swirled together like photographs of colliding galaxies. The fact that were still edible is testament to the power of pavlova. I have had more success mixing dyes into the egg-white once it was at stiff-peak stage; lurid fluorescence tamed to a pretty pastel. I have made multicoloured pavlovas by using single-coloured meringues in a variety of hues; and at some point I will try dolloping different, ready-mixed colours into the piping bag together to see what happens

bright meringues

green meringues

multi coloured meringues

multi coloured meringue tower

Texture and flavour

The ratio of crispy shell to squashy centre depends mostly on how long the meringue is given to dry out, rather than the temperature: the soft cloud topping a lemon meringue pie will have had a few minutes in the oven; the supermarket variety about four months. Chewiness is generally ascribed to the addition of an acid and a stabiliser (such as vinegar and cornflour) but I have never had a problem getting a basic egg-white and sugar recipe to come out chewy. In my experience it seems to be a byproduct of the caramelisation process: a little more heat, and for longer, will result in more chew. Just don't burn them.

For a basic pavlova, I would default to a few drops of vanilla extract, stirred through after all the sugar has dissolved. Natural cacao powder works well: the meringue develops a pale beige shell and a lusciously dark interior. Spices such as ground cinnamon, ginger or cardamom work. Essences, used in moderation, are also fine: I've used coffee and rose.

Method

To make meringue, all you really need are egg whites and sugar. I use a standard ratio of 50g of caster sugar per egg white. The sugar must be thoroughly dissolved into the egg-white or it will weep in the oven (this can also be caused by too much heat): not a massive problem taste-wise, but less aesthetically pleasing. Some people heat the sugar to help it dissolve more quickly, but I've never bothered.

If I am planning on using a piping bag I will add a pinch of cornflour and a bit of cream of tartar to help keep the meringue stable as it's squeezed. The ratio I use in that case comes from Samin Nosrat's Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat: six egg whites; 300g of caster sugar; 15g of cornflour and half a teaspoon of cream of tartar.

It is at Ms Nosrat's injunction that I also add a pinch of salt. To meringue, and everything else I make.

I start by whisking the egg whites (and cream of tartar, if using) on a slow speed to create even-sized bubbles, very gradually increasing the speed until they are at the soft-peak stage. At this point I add the sugar (and cornflour, if using), a spoonful at a time. In theory, you should wait until each spoonful of sugar has fully dissolved, but I confess I usually lose patience about half-way through and add it in a slow but steady stream. Once the mixture is at the stiff-peak stage I will add any flavours or colours, and continue beating until all the sugar is dissolved. You can tell by rubbing a small blob between your fingers: it should be completely smooth.

Finally I will spoon or pipe the meringue straight onto baking parchment.

Temperature

I never preheat an oven for meringue to more than 130 degrees. I will usually put them in at this temperature and immediately turn the oven down to 110 degrees. This gives them a quick blast of something approaching real heat (to help the caramelisation process get going), without too much risk of weeping or excessive colouring.

How long I keep the oven on depends on the size of the meringues. I always make more than I need so I can take samples (another advantage over the single large "nest"). As a general rule, they should have developed a thin shell and a little chewiness but still be very squashy in the middle. Most of the "cooking" takes place once the oven is off. I keep the oven door closed, and let the meringues dry in the residual heat for four or five hours.

If I am aiming for snowy meringues, I will preheat the oven to 80 degrees and turn it down to 50 degrees (my oven's lowest temperature) for many hours, until they sound hollow when tapped. I will then turn the oven off and let them naturally come down to room temperature.

The cream

When it comes to pavlova, I have no time for any dairy product except double cream, whipped into soft mounds. Suggestions of adding mascarpone, creme fraiche and even yoghurt are... well, heresy is a strong word, but I've said it now.

This doesn't mean you shouldn't add flavour, either directly to the cream or rippled through in the form of a sauce. Sweet wines or liqueurs are a classic, and any bitterness can be tempered with a small amount of sieved icing sugar. Icing sugar could also be used alongside cocoa powder. Extracts and essences work well: although I would always use complementary rather than matching flavours for the cream and meringue.

Chocolate or caramel sauce is another option: If I am using poached fruit on the top I will often reduce the poaching liquid down with sugar and stir it through once cooled.

A personal favourite is lemon curd, the acidity of the lemon cuts beautifully through the fat and sugar and lifts the whole pudding. I have tried marmalade, but the pieces of orange and overall jamminess keeps it from really melding with the cream. Squashiness is the name of the game here.

However it's flavoured, the cream should not be particularly sweet: the sugar in the meringue will be sufficient for the overall taste.

The fruit

You really can't go wrong here: whether raw or cooked, provided the fruit tastes good by itself, it will only be improved with the addition of cream and meringue. Like all of us, really.

Two lessons I learnt so you don't have to: don't assemble the pavlova until the last minute or the crisp shell will absorb the moisture from the cream and turn to mush. And whatever you do, don't pour warm, let alone hot, fruit or sauces over the top. A last minute fruit compote poured over whipped cream will result in an unholy mess. And quite possibly, a crying cook.