The Pain of Peppermint Meringues

I was in the bookstore today flipping through Bon Appetit. The issue with peppermint meringues on the cover.

The recipe seemed easy enough. Egg whites, sugar, salt, peppermint extract, red food coloring. 

Blend until it forms peaks, then throw them in the oven.

I can do this, I thought. And I have a kitchen. Why not use it?

I went shopping for the one ingredient I did not have: peppermint extract. I got the kind that's sunflower oil and peppermint oil, and that's it.

None of that alcohol and fake peppermint for the gourmet meringues I'd be making. 

I also skipped the red food coloring. I wasn't trying to impress anyone. Just make myself a tasty, homemade treat.

I picked up some of those mini-cupcake holders with the foil on the outside and paper on the inside after confirming with a Shop Rite person that it's safe to place these in the oven. They are for cupcakes, and cupcakes go in the oven, but it never hurts to confirm.

I was supposed to use parchment paper, but I couldn't find any, and these little cup things looked like a more logical choice anyway. I'd be able to portion the meringues equally using these.

I hadn't bothered to remember the measurements from the recipe. I poured into a bowl what I thought looked like a sensible amount of egg white and used my hand-held blender thing to begin to whip it into meringueiness.

I blended and blended and blended. And nothing happened. Except that I got egg white all over the counter, the walls and my hair.

Were I and my kitchen going to need a full-body hose down over some innocent peppermint meringues?

I was already tired from blending and wanting to cry from the mess I'd made and gotten myself into. But I was knee deep in this and not ready to give up. 

Baking was not going to fell me. Not tonight.

I decided a bowl was the wrong choice. I transferred the egg white to the measuring cup thing the blender thing comes with and added a little salt and a whole bunch of sugar and the peppermint oil.

Then I blended. And I blended. And I blended.

The hand-held thing was getting really hot in my hand. Could the motor explode? Would I get burns from this?

I stopped blending to assess the situation. My hand was red and throbbing from the stupid blender. I could still hear the buzz, buzz, buzz in my head and feel it in my teeth.

But, there was some froth at the top of the egg white mixture. 

If I pushed through, this might just work.

So I blended some more and I refused to stop until the consistency was what it was supposed to be.

And it was kind of sort of getting there.

I still felt like crying and couldn't remember why I thought this was a good idea and not just hard, thankless labor, which is exactly what baking is.

But I knew I could make something decent if I didn't let baking win.

Until the hand-held blender thing got really hot and started to smell funny.

I pictured myself dropping it and grabbing the fire extinguisher if I needed to.

Then I came to my senses.

How ridiculous would it be to need to use a fire extinguisher over some crazy meringues?

I called a truce with baking. 

I stopped blending and unplugged the scary upsetting blender thing (note to self, don't buy pointless kitchen crap you will never, ever use, at least not fruitfully).

It was still liquid egg white mixture at the bottom. But on top it was the fluffy consistency it was supposed to be.

So, I scooped the top part into the little cups and put them in the oven at 200 degrees, where they were supposed to stay for 2 hours.

After a while, they looked like they were liquefying instead of baking, and waiting required patience which is something I don't have, so I turned it up to 250 degrees.

Which, of course, caused them to get brown and over baked.

Why can't all things just work the way I think they should?

I should become the Steve Jobs of kitchen equipment, insisting engineers build them to perform the way I want them to.

I took the meringues out of the oven. 

They were spongy to the touch and didn't smell very appetizing.

I tried to peel the cupcake foil off, just like with a cupcake. Except, of course, because the meringues have no lubricating oil or butter like cupcakes do, they baked right into the paper instead of sliding out like I'd pictured while making my choice at Shop Rite.

Something in my head knew this was going to happen when I chose the cups over the parchment paper. But, wanting it to work my way trumped common sense in the moment.

I scraped the middle out with my teeth and got some paper together with the meringue, which was fine because the crunch of the foil provided some distraction from the flavor.

It was spongy, smelly and toothpastey.

Hard labor, hours of time and money, down the tubes.

And stinky meringues teasing me mere feet away on the counter, waiting to be dumped in the trash, never to be thought of again.

I have new found respect for people who bake. 

They have spines of steel and yet, they are an unassuming bunch, aren't they?

Cookies, brownies, pies, and countless other things just seem to appear around the holidays with no one taking credit.

If I could bake, I'd send a press-packet to all media outlets every time I produced something new.

I've told everyone I know about the raw apple pie I made one year for Christmas which everyone admired, but no one (but me) touched.

Maybe that's what I should do - stick with raw desserts. That's more my speed.

Or better yet, leave the baking to the bakers.

They are a special lot.