Eton Mess

Rumours abound about the origin of Eton Mess. Some involve clumsy animals whilst others talk of dropped food being picked up off the floor, reconstructed and eaten anyway.  Not terribly appetizing.

Regardless, Eton Mess is a classic dessert made with those most classic of English ingredients: strawberries and cream. The Eton part of the name is derived from Eton College where it was (apparently) traditionally served at the annual cricket match between Eton and Harrow. The “Mess” comes from how the dessert is constructed; folded together to look a bit, well, messy. This is not the most elegant of desserts.

But it is delicious, easy to make and can take on a myriad of connotations: a variety of fruits can be used, purees can be made, yoghurt can be mixed into the cream for a slightly lighter, tangier version. I saw a recipe recently which involved a rose petal syrup.

But when you get down to the heart of the matter, the utter charm of Eton Mess is its simplicity. Light and fresh it can be thrown together in minutes and doesn’t require the use of an oven, certainly something to embrace when you find yourself at that time of year when summer has begun to overstay its welcome.

All that’s needed are strawberries, cream and meringues. Obviously you are free to make your own meringues, but I use these from Trader Joe’s (because, no oven…) which have an excellent crunch and a nice vanilla taste.

Whip the carton of cream (no need for sugar, the meringues are sweet enough) until it holds nice soft peaks. Roughly chop (about) a pound of strawberries and a dozen or so meringues, reserving a few of each to sprinkle on top, and then gently fold everything together.

That’s it. Eton Mess in its purest and simplest form. Easy peasy. It’ll serve roughly four, depending on the size of dish used.

Feel free to chop the strawberries and meringue as well as whip the cream up to a few hours ahead of time, but don’t combine them until you’re ready to eat. The meringue goes soft very quickly once mixed into the cream, which isn’t entirely bad; it turns rather marshmallowy. But it does deny you that wonderful, textural pleasure of crunchy sweetness against soft cream.