Meringues

I have spent the last week, on and off, trying to make meringues (as I mentioned, rather self-righteously, in a previous post). I went through half a dozen egg whites and most of my precious caster sugar in my attempts. For something 'dead easy', I made a mess of it twice. See I've got this nostalgia for meringues - when I was little, Nonna used to make these gorgeous meringue-and-chocolate cookies at Christmas. They were the culinary highlight (for me) in a sumptuous Christmas dinner. I remember the Christmas after she died they weren't there on the table and I missed them and I missed her.

Now I can make them myself - the trick is beating the egg whites and sugar far longer than I thought necessary.

I remember one summer when my friend was away, with her family, on a summer holiday. I'd gone up to their house to check on their cat, Gables, the mail, the house in general - as you do. I'd biked up the hill and it was a hot day - I was planning on biking back home straight away. But when I got there, Nonna was there, staying at their place while they were gone. I don't know how old I was - young, young enough to feel that I was doing something very responsible and grown up in checking on their house. Nonna had been a fixture of my life but I don't think we had ever talked, like two people, rather than grandmother and small child. She invited me in, had made lemonade or iced-tea, and we sat outside and talked. And she told me about moving to Canada, and her husband, and my friend's mum growing up; about music and food; and I talked about school and my bike, soccer, and my friend (her granddaughter). The sun was hot but we sat out on the stone patio under the shade from a big ol' maple tree that held up our treehouse. It's strange that I don't remember more, I suppose - just flashes that sometimes I think might be from a dream. But it's one of my favourite memories.