I've skirted around the 23 Things online training course for a few years now. The launch this week of CPD23 Things finally convinced me to give it a go, as it appears to offer a structured way to get to grips with the rising throng of online tools that are becoming available.
This blog is a mixture of personal and library-related thoughts that I've kept for the last 3 or so years. My postings have been woefully infrequent; perhaps something 23 Things will cure. To kick my effort off I'm published a lengthy post below on the impact I believe social media is having on libraries. An edited version of a longer (can you believe it) essay I recently wrote, it sets out my own, personal views, on the developing world of social media.
Saturday, 25 June 2011
Saturday, 5 February 2011
Nature of performance
"It's not just about making sure you play all the notes right, that's often very boring. A concert should be some kind of event, the audience has to feel it is somehow involved with what is going on on the stage." Jarvis Cocker
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b0090mxd/Jarvis_Cockers_Musical_Map_of_Sheffield/
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b0090mxd/Jarvis_Cockers_Musical_Map_of_Sheffield/
Wednesday, 19 January 2011
The Guernsey Choral & Orchestral Society's Christmas Concert 2010
The audience for the Guernsey Choral and Orchestral Society's Christmas concert, kindly sponsored by DHL Express, were an intrepid group. The aftermath of December’s snow still lingered, making for a skittery, halting journey from car park to concert hall. The challenge of the walk was justified, though, as this was a very special concert. On Friday 17 and Saturday 18 December the Guernsey Choral & Orchestral Society gave not only their traditional Christmas concerts but also the Guernsey premiere of Karl Jenkins new work Gloria.
It is far too easy to dismiss the music of Karl Jenkin's as a multi-cultural grab-bag of styles and sounds. The Guernsey Choral & Orchestral Society performance demonstrated that Jenkins in fact taps into something far more primal, a universal urge to make music, to sing, to praise.
From the first exuberant burst of The Proclamation: Gloria in excelsis Deo it was clear that this was going to be an assured performance from both choir and orchestra. Despite luxuriously rich orchestration Jenkin’s Gloria leaves no room for choral error, as many of the vocal leads are terribly exposed. Yet, led by conductor Helen Grand, the whole choir sung confidently, giving great spirit to the joyful proclamation of the first movement.
Choir and orchestra moved as one beguiling entity during the second movement, The Prayer: Laudamus te. Soft, lush singing by the sopranos and altos seductively counter-played with the strong, purposeful tenors and basses. The movement as a whole contrasted sharply with the great weltering swagger of The Psalm: Tehillim - Psalm 150. Grand conducted The Psalm with staccato punches, working the choir towards a monumental declamation of Hallelujah, as the singers beat their scores with their hands.
After the fierce, taunt rhythms of The Psalm came the cool peace of The Song: I’ll make music, beautifully sung by soloist Tina James, who was supported by smooth, understated orchestral playing. Reminiscent of a 30’s musical, tinged with a little southern spiritual, it is easy to see The Song becoming a familiar choral work.
The final movement, The Exaltation: Domine Deus, demonstrated the choir and orchestra’s range, moving from bursts of fierce, incandescent praise, to silken interludes, before introducing impish tempo changes where the choir delivered precise, controlled off-tempo singing, building to a cataclysmic and utterly gripping finale.
Matters took a turn for the festive in the second half of the Guernsey Choral & Orchestral Society’s Christmas concert. Edward Watson’s orchestral A Christmas Medley, conducted by Jean Owen, introduced a classic Hollywood feel, with muted trumpets whisking one away to chilly, steam filled New York streets.
During A Christmas Medley the School’s Music Centre Choirs quietly filed into the stage, joining the choir and orchestra to perform John Rutter’s Go, Tell it on the Mountains and Lydia Pugh’s Rejoice! (The Time of Peace is Here). Combining clear, focused singing with simmering, yet controlled enthusiasm, the Music Centre Choirs are in short a class act, in no small part thanks to the intuitive and attentive direction of their conductor, on this occasion, Rachel Wright.
It is far too easy to dismiss the music of Karl Jenkin's as a multi-cultural grab-bag of styles and sounds. The Guernsey Choral & Orchestral Society performance demonstrated that Jenkins in fact taps into something far more primal, a universal urge to make music, to sing, to praise.
From the first exuberant burst of The Proclamation: Gloria in excelsis Deo it was clear that this was going to be an assured performance from both choir and orchestra. Despite luxuriously rich orchestration Jenkin’s Gloria leaves no room for choral error, as many of the vocal leads are terribly exposed. Yet, led by conductor Helen Grand, the whole choir sung confidently, giving great spirit to the joyful proclamation of the first movement.
Choir and orchestra moved as one beguiling entity during the second movement, The Prayer: Laudamus te. Soft, lush singing by the sopranos and altos seductively counter-played with the strong, purposeful tenors and basses. The movement as a whole contrasted sharply with the great weltering swagger of The Psalm: Tehillim - Psalm 150. Grand conducted The Psalm with staccato punches, working the choir towards a monumental declamation of Hallelujah, as the singers beat their scores with their hands.
After the fierce, taunt rhythms of The Psalm came the cool peace of The Song: I’ll make music, beautifully sung by soloist Tina James, who was supported by smooth, understated orchestral playing. Reminiscent of a 30’s musical, tinged with a little southern spiritual, it is easy to see The Song becoming a familiar choral work.
The final movement, The Exaltation: Domine Deus, demonstrated the choir and orchestra’s range, moving from bursts of fierce, incandescent praise, to silken interludes, before introducing impish tempo changes where the choir delivered precise, controlled off-tempo singing, building to a cataclysmic and utterly gripping finale.
Matters took a turn for the festive in the second half of the Guernsey Choral & Orchestral Society’s Christmas concert. Edward Watson’s orchestral A Christmas Medley, conducted by Jean Owen, introduced a classic Hollywood feel, with muted trumpets whisking one away to chilly, steam filled New York streets.
During A Christmas Medley the School’s Music Centre Choirs quietly filed into the stage, joining the choir and orchestra to perform John Rutter’s Go, Tell it on the Mountains and Lydia Pugh’s Rejoice! (The Time of Peace is Here). Combining clear, focused singing with simmering, yet controlled enthusiasm, the Music Centre Choirs are in short a class act, in no small part thanks to the intuitive and attentive direction of their conductor, on this occasion, Rachel Wright.
The strength of the combined choirs was well displayed in Rejoice! (The Time of Peace is Here). Written by local composer and musician Lydia Pugh, it was originally commissioned by the Guernsey Grammar School & Sixth Form Centre for their Carol Service in 2009. Filled with intriguing rhythms the piece built to a soaring wall of sound, standing well in comparison to Jenkin’s Gloria.
There was a small theatrical diversion as George Foote once again donned night-dress and cap to narrate Carol-Ann Duffy’s Another Night Before Christmas, orchestrated by Philip Lane. Captivating in his evening attire Foote parried well with the orchestra, as the soft jazz of Stephen Le Prevost’s piano quietly stepped in and out of the story.
Foote was followed fast on by Santa, who led a wonderfully jazzy rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, replete with a glitter trimmed tuba and swannee whistle. Played out to his sleigh by the orchestra with their version of Let it Snow! (Jule Styne arr. Charles Sayre), a voice in my ear captured the moment in one word; “groovy”.
A more traditional mood was restored with the choir and orchestra’s performance of John Rutter’s Child in a Manager. Light and airy in tone it contrasted well with the following rumbustious delights of Willcock’s Masters in this Hall. Moving at a cracking pace Masters’ is always a test of diction and timing for the choir, yet nerves and tongues both held admirably well.
Choir and audience rose to their feet for a fulsome rendition of O Come all ye Faithful (J. F. Wade arr. Willcocks) before the final volley of party poppers and streamers heralded the riotous, yet still in tune and time, encore of We Wish You a Merry Christmas. An evening well worth chancing the ice for.
There was a small theatrical diversion as George Foote once again donned night-dress and cap to narrate Carol-Ann Duffy’s Another Night Before Christmas, orchestrated by Philip Lane. Captivating in his evening attire Foote parried well with the orchestra, as the soft jazz of Stephen Le Prevost’s piano quietly stepped in and out of the story.
Foote was followed fast on by Santa, who led a wonderfully jazzy rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, replete with a glitter trimmed tuba and swannee whistle. Played out to his sleigh by the orchestra with their version of Let it Snow! (Jule Styne arr. Charles Sayre), a voice in my ear captured the moment in one word; “groovy”.
A more traditional mood was restored with the choir and orchestra’s performance of John Rutter’s Child in a Manager. Light and airy in tone it contrasted well with the following rumbustious delights of Willcock’s Masters in this Hall. Moving at a cracking pace Masters’ is always a test of diction and timing for the choir, yet nerves and tongues both held admirably well.
Choir and audience rose to their feet for a fulsome rendition of O Come all ye Faithful (J. F. Wade arr. Willcocks) before the final volley of party poppers and streamers heralded the riotous, yet still in tune and time, encore of We Wish You a Merry Christmas. An evening well worth chancing the ice for.
Saturday, 13 November 2010
Eggs 5 - Movember
It’s Movember; season of the ‘tash. Throughout the world hundreds of thousands of men have forsaken the blade and are tolerating an itchy upper lip in order to raise awareness of and money to help fight prostate cancer.
The rules are simple, start Movember 1st clean-shaven and then grow a moustache for the entire month. The moustache becomes the ribbon for men’s health, the means by which awareness and funds are raised for cancers that affect men. Much like the commitment to run or walk for charity, the men of Movember commit to growing a moustache for 30 days. The funds raised through Movember’s UK campaign benefit the The Prostate Cancer Charity, the UK’s leading prostate cancer charity.
The eggs, kindly provided by Castel Farm, have been pressed into duty to help with this tonsorial venture, through one of the more satisfying way to raise money; a cake sale. Given the testosterone-bound theme of this challenge these must be manly cakes, bristling with swagger and just a hint of Old Spice. The John Wayne of the cake domain; the rock cake.
Movember Rock Cakes
Ingredients
200g (8oz) white flour
1 teaspoon of mized spice
100g (4 oz) butter
gratted lemon rind of 1/2 lemon
100g (4oz) brown sugar
100g (4oz) mixed dried fruit
1 egg, beaten
1 tablespoon of milk
Method
Pre-heat the oven to 200C / 400F / Gas 6
In a mixing bowl rub the flour, mixed spices and butter together into a crumbly mixture.
Stir in the remaining ingredients well.
Place small dollops of the cake mixture on a greased baking tray.
Bake for 15 to 20 minutes until golden.
For more information on Movember (including ways to donate) and to follow my mustachioed efforts visit http://uk.movember.com/mospace/690216/
The rules are simple, start Movember 1st clean-shaven and then grow a moustache for the entire month. The moustache becomes the ribbon for men’s health, the means by which awareness and funds are raised for cancers that affect men. Much like the commitment to run or walk for charity, the men of Movember commit to growing a moustache for 30 days. The funds raised through Movember’s UK campaign benefit the The Prostate Cancer Charity, the UK’s leading prostate cancer charity.
The eggs, kindly provided by Castel Farm, have been pressed into duty to help with this tonsorial venture, through one of the more satisfying way to raise money; a cake sale. Given the testosterone-bound theme of this challenge these must be manly cakes, bristling with swagger and just a hint of Old Spice. The John Wayne of the cake domain; the rock cake.
Movember Rock Cakes
Ingredients
200g (8oz) white flour
1 teaspoon of mized spice
100g (4 oz) butter
gratted lemon rind of 1/2 lemon
100g (4oz) brown sugar
100g (4oz) mixed dried fruit
1 egg, beaten
1 tablespoon of milk
Method
Pre-heat the oven to 200C / 400F / Gas 6
In a mixing bowl rub the flour, mixed spices and butter together into a crumbly mixture.
Stir in the remaining ingredients well.
Place small dollops of the cake mixture on a greased baking tray.
Bake for 15 to 20 minutes until golden.
For more information on Movember (including ways to donate) and to follow my mustachioed efforts visit http://uk.movember.com/mospace/690216/
Thursday, 4 November 2010
Guernsey Camerata - Romantic Masterpieces Concert Review
The Guernsey Camerata’s Romantic Masterpieces concert (kindly sponsored by BWCI) stood, in part, as a celebration of the bicentennial anniversary of Frederic Chopin's birth. To mark the occasion The Royal Northern College of Music held a Chopin competition; the winner, pianist Ivan Hovorun, getting the opportunity to play in Guernsey with the Camerata.
Hovorun and the Guernsey Camerata Orchestra’s performance served as a powerful reminder of the immediacy and compelling nature of live music, demonstrating that each performance is a unique moment of creation and interpretation. Even the occasional misstep when, in the speed of flight stray finger struck unexpected key, added to the experience. These are the moments that remind you that performance is an act of creation, rather than formulaic recitation and under the masterly control of conductor John Traill the concerto as a whole pulsed forward.
Despite the focus of the concerto being on the soloist the contribution of the orchestra should not go unnoticed. Throughout there was a very satisfying interplay between soloist and orchestra, the orchestra providing a well-balanced refrain, taking the motifs created by the piano and quietly playing with them beneath the over-arching canopy created by Hovorun.
Robert Schumann’s Symphony No. 3 in E flat - ‘Rhenish’ Op. 97 formed the second half of Romantic Masterpieces. Composed in 1850 the piece was inspired by a visit to Cologne Cathedral and is influenced by the music of the Rhine valley. Schumann was municipal music director in Dusseldorf when he wrote the Symphony and the first movement (Lebhaft) was full of confident vigour, built and guided by Traill, who appeared to have a symbiotic relationship with the orchestra, gathering the sound in his arms and offering it upwards in broad, generous gestures.
Each of the Symphony’s five movements had its own distinct identity. The Scherzo: Sehr massig the air of a calm, meandering river, while the Nicht schnell was slower, demanding great skill and concentration from the strings as the violins mirrored the cellos pizzicato with carefully placed Louré bow strokes. The forth movement, the Feierlich, was written after Schumann witnessed the Archbishop’s elevation to Cardinal at Cologne and the music chilled with its sense of restrained power, building to a series of brass fanfares that held forth the power and mystery of the church.
The final movement (Lebhaft) switched back to the irrepressible spirit of the first movement, almost as if Schumann could no longer restrain himself after the solemnity of the Feierlich. Staggering volleys of horn fanfares rocked through the concert hall, while a trilling motif was passed amongst the orchestra, as surreptitiously as a note in class.
Throughout the evening the whole orchestra not just playing tightly, but with a mastery that comes from experience and confidence in its combined abilities. It is easy to see why an opportunity to perform with the Guernsey Camerata now attracts national attention.
Hovorun is clearly a Chopin aficionado, visibly entering into an intense relationship with the music from the moment he took his position on the stage. Throughout the concerto Hovorun roused a distinct personality from the piano, from the sweeping romantic charm of Chopin’s characteristic phrases, to an utterly beguiling series of delicate, little trills lapping up against each other towards the end of the second movement.
Hovorun and the Guernsey Camerata Orchestra’s performance served as a powerful reminder of the immediacy and compelling nature of live music, demonstrating that each performance is a unique moment of creation and interpretation. Even the occasional misstep when, in the speed of flight stray finger struck unexpected key, added to the experience. These are the moments that remind you that performance is an act of creation, rather than formulaic recitation and under the masterly control of conductor John Traill the concerto as a whole pulsed forward.
Despite the focus of the concerto being on the soloist the contribution of the orchestra should not go unnoticed. Throughout there was a very satisfying interplay between soloist and orchestra, the orchestra providing a well-balanced refrain, taking the motifs created by the piano and quietly playing with them beneath the over-arching canopy created by Hovorun.
Robert Schumann’s Symphony No. 3 in E flat - ‘Rhenish’ Op. 97 formed the second half of Romantic Masterpieces. Composed in 1850 the piece was inspired by a visit to Cologne Cathedral and is influenced by the music of the Rhine valley. Schumann was municipal music director in Dusseldorf when he wrote the Symphony and the first movement (Lebhaft) was full of confident vigour, built and guided by Traill, who appeared to have a symbiotic relationship with the orchestra, gathering the sound in his arms and offering it upwards in broad, generous gestures.
Each of the Symphony’s five movements had its own distinct identity. The Scherzo: Sehr massig the air of a calm, meandering river, while the Nicht schnell was slower, demanding great skill and concentration from the strings as the violins mirrored the cellos pizzicato with carefully placed Louré bow strokes. The forth movement, the Feierlich, was written after Schumann witnessed the Archbishop’s elevation to Cardinal at Cologne and the music chilled with its sense of restrained power, building to a series of brass fanfares that held forth the power and mystery of the church.
The final movement (Lebhaft) switched back to the irrepressible spirit of the first movement, almost as if Schumann could no longer restrain himself after the solemnity of the Feierlich. Staggering volleys of horn fanfares rocked through the concert hall, while a trilling motif was passed amongst the orchestra, as surreptitiously as a note in class.
Throughout the evening the whole orchestra not just playing tightly, but with a mastery that comes from experience and confidence in its combined abilities. It is easy to see why an opportunity to perform with the Guernsey Camerata now attracts national attention.
Saturday, 9 October 2010
Over Egged - Pickled Eggs
“Coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrollscressandwidgespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater...” Rattie's uber-picnic from Kenneth Graham's Wind in the Willows has always stood for me as the picnic by which all other hampers are judged. But not an egg in sight! As mole might say, one small omission, dear Rattie. Couldn't the whiskery oarsman have stretched to a pickled egg?
Pickles; the coyest of foods, Spinsters of the store cupboard, hugging the back corner, frumpily dressed in dusty jars. Little suggests what will follow the seditious hiss as a bottle's seal finally gives under the pressure of glutinous fingers; the tang of acerbic onions, last year's windfalls transformed into syrupy chutney, alchemy within a jar.
As the first apples tumble turfward we ferret out the Big Pan and fill the street with heady clouds of hot vinegar, crushed cardomen pods, sugar and cinnamon. Anything left from the Summer's crop hits the pot. This year our chutneys & pickles have added pep, as we've cracked the art of chilli growing. After several years of mouldering thanklessly in a pot on the patio we moved our chilli plants indoors into the warmest room in the house, the bathroom. A window seat is now festooned with cayenne and birds eye chillies, quietly bruising red amid clouds of steam and shaving foam.
Sceptical at first about the virtues of pickled eggs I am now a passionate convert. Uncouth fiery orbs of peppery heat these are the morsels Weasel & Co. would have bought to the riverside banquet, destine to curl the hair on Rattie’s chest and make Mole whimper with delight. Resist the urge to nibble for a couple of weeks and let the eggs steep in the pickling liquor. Kept in the fridge they should last for up to a year.
Wicked Weasel's Pickled Eggs
Ingredients
6 - 8 eggs
700 ml (1 1/4 pint) white wine vinegar
4 teaspoons salt
3 teaspoons cayenne pepper
6 cloves of garlic, peeled
12 peppercorns
1 1/2 teaspoons of ground allspice
2 teaspoons mustard seeds
4 cloves
2 bay leaves
2 whole chillies
Method
Simmer the eggs for 3 minutes in boiling water, then drain and transfer the eggs straight to a bowl of cold water.
Once cool peel the eggs and place carefully in a large, sterile pickling jar.
Bring all the other ingredients to the boil in a large pan, simmer for five minutes and then turn the heat off and leave the liquor to stew for at least 2 hours.
Put the mixture back on the heat. Once boiling again carefully ladle over the eggs, ensuring all the eggs are covered, before wiping and sealing the jar.
Allow to cool and keep in the fridge.
Pickles; the coyest of foods, Spinsters of the store cupboard, hugging the back corner, frumpily dressed in dusty jars. Little suggests what will follow the seditious hiss as a bottle's seal finally gives under the pressure of glutinous fingers; the tang of acerbic onions, last year's windfalls transformed into syrupy chutney, alchemy within a jar.
As the first apples tumble turfward we ferret out the Big Pan and fill the street with heady clouds of hot vinegar, crushed cardomen pods, sugar and cinnamon. Anything left from the Summer's crop hits the pot. This year our chutneys & pickles have added pep, as we've cracked the art of chilli growing. After several years of mouldering thanklessly in a pot on the patio we moved our chilli plants indoors into the warmest room in the house, the bathroom. A window seat is now festooned with cayenne and birds eye chillies, quietly bruising red amid clouds of steam and shaving foam.
Sceptical at first about the virtues of pickled eggs I am now a passionate convert. Uncouth fiery orbs of peppery heat these are the morsels Weasel & Co. would have bought to the riverside banquet, destine to curl the hair on Rattie’s chest and make Mole whimper with delight. Resist the urge to nibble for a couple of weeks and let the eggs steep in the pickling liquor. Kept in the fridge they should last for up to a year.
Wicked Weasel's Pickled Eggs
Ingredients
6 - 8 eggs
700 ml (1 1/4 pint) white wine vinegar
4 teaspoons salt
3 teaspoons cayenne pepper
6 cloves of garlic, peeled
12 peppercorns
1 1/2 teaspoons of ground allspice
2 teaspoons mustard seeds
4 cloves
2 bay leaves
2 whole chillies
Method
Simmer the eggs for 3 minutes in boiling water, then drain and transfer the eggs straight to a bowl of cold water.
Once cool peel the eggs and place carefully in a large, sterile pickling jar.
Bring all the other ingredients to the boil in a large pan, simmer for five minutes and then turn the heat off and leave the liquor to stew for at least 2 hours.
Put the mixture back on the heat. Once boiling again carefully ladle over the eggs, ensuring all the eggs are covered, before wiping and sealing the jar.
Allow to cool and keep in the fridge.
Over Egged - Meringues
Meringues are one of the few egg based foodstuffs that have successfully penetrated my egg aversion. Like all good food, the taste of a meringue is peppered with memories. There was the drive along pockmarked country roads in a car stuffed with 85 of my mother-in-law's pristine meringues, to be delivered in mint condition at a wedding reception. Or the small stall tucked away in a St. Peter's hedge, stuffed with bags of freshly baked meringues. A sugary trail of white dust followed us for the rest of that afternoon's ramble. But only when 6 eggs began dutifully appearing on my doorstep each week from Castel Farm did it occur to me to try making a meringue myself.
Meringue alone is incomplete, though. Meringue needs fruit. Served brimming with strawberries, or stained by a raspberry coolie, or nestled in a hook of melon; the slightly acidic tang of fruit parries deftly with the sweetness of the meringue. We stumbled upon growing soft fruit by accident and it is testament to the resilience of our plants, rather than our skill, that we get any crop at all. We inherited a patch of autumn-fruiting raspberry canes which, despite their name, produce two loads of fruit a year, a first batch in early Summer and a second serving in Autumn. Having left them to their own devices for the past few years, last autumn we got busy with the secateurs and, following advice from the RHS website, pruned the canes down to ground level. Painful though the buzz-cut canes looked, they have rallied and are once again producing fruit.
Our poor strawberry plants could probably apply for a restraining order against us, having spent two miserable years mouldering in an overshadowed grow-bag in our back yard. In February I had the bright idea that the strawberries might be happier in the allotment. Never the best plan to move grow-bags after a solid week of rain, but after much muttering and dark chuntering we eased the benighted plants into trenches filled with well-rotted horse dung. Covered with chicken wire and guarded with old CDs dangled from string our strawberries clearly appreciated being sworn at and being left in poo, as they're now pumping out berries by the punnet load.
Meringue alone is incomplete, though. Meringue needs fruit. Served brimming with strawberries, or stained by a raspberry coolie, or nestled in a hook of melon; the slightly acidic tang of fruit parries deftly with the sweetness of the meringue. We stumbled upon growing soft fruit by accident and it is testament to the resilience of our plants, rather than our skill, that we get any crop at all. We inherited a patch of autumn-fruiting raspberry canes which, despite their name, produce two loads of fruit a year, a first batch in early Summer and a second serving in Autumn. Having left them to their own devices for the past few years, last autumn we got busy with the secateurs and, following advice from the RHS website, pruned the canes down to ground level. Painful though the buzz-cut canes looked, they have rallied and are once again producing fruit.
Our poor strawberry plants could probably apply for a restraining order against us, having spent two miserable years mouldering in an overshadowed grow-bag in our back yard. In February I had the bright idea that the strawberries might be happier in the allotment. Never the best plan to move grow-bags after a solid week of rain, but after much muttering and dark chuntering we eased the benighted plants into trenches filled with well-rotted horse dung. Covered with chicken wire and guarded with old CDs dangled from string our strawberries clearly appreciated being sworn at and being left in poo, as they're now pumping out berries by the punnet load.
Meringue Morsels
I've borrowed this recipe from my mother, who had the inspired idea of adding the rose water. The rosewater adds a heady scent of the Orient to these morsels, perfect for a warm, hazy evening in the back yard.
Makes 16
Ingredients
2 large free-range egg whites
100g caster sugar
½ tablespoon icing sugar
150ml double cream
1 tablespoon of rose water
Method
Preheat the oven to 130°C/250°F.
Line a large baking tray with baking paper.
Break the eggs and separate the whites into a large bowl.
Whisk the whites until they stiffen.
Gradually whisk in the caster sugar, a tablespoonful at a time, until it is completely incorporated
Spoon the meringue mixture inside a piping bag fitted with a large nozzle.
Pipe 32 small meringues onto the baking paper.
Pipe 32 small meringues onto the baking paper.
Put meringues in the centre of the oven and immediately reduce the temperature to IOO°C/225°F,.
Bake for 2 hours until crisp but not coloured.
Turn off the oven and leave to cool.
Shortly before you are ready to unveil your meringues sift the icing sugar over the cream, stir in the rosewater and whip into stiff peaks.
Taking two meringues put a dolop of cream on the underside of one and sandwich against the bottom of the second.
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