When the temperature soars to 45 degrees C in Sydney
and eggs may fry on car bonnets,
what else does one do but bake a pavlova?
They are tricky things,
they don't like the heat and will flop in humidity,
but then so do I.
After two attempts over Christmas
where the thing just sank miserably, it was war.
Out came the Kenwood.
A mixer that never fails despite being 36 years old.
A symbol of independence in 1976,
and now a symbol of defiance in the heat.
My first paycheck was $50.
Desperate to escape home life,
I gathered essentials for leaving.
At 16, with no clue how to live on my own,
a cake mixer was the first item.
Kenwood has never been lost of forsaken since then, despite
numerous house moves,relationships
and kitchen gadgets.
The pav cooled slowly in the oven,
Strawberries were cut and passionfuit
liberated from the overhanging
branches of unsuspecting neighbours spooned out.
In the time it took to whip the cream,
sweat beaded on the pav.
It must be appreciated before
pooling into clear and sticky goo.
In 1996 I had meltdown of my own.
I pooled into goo and sought
a therapist to un-goo me.
We worked together for almost two years.
At one stage we dicussed the Kenwood.
How sturdy it was, and well made.
How long it had been with me
and how it was one of the first things
gathered to assist my move to a better place.
Pavlova made with the help of a trusted old friend,
eaten with love,
and who cares how hot it is outside.
Kenwood is still here
and so am I.