pavlova

“"YOU WRITE TO MOSCOW": NINA PAVLOVA REVIEWS LISTENERS MAIL. […] LISTENER IS TOLD THAT THERE ARE TWO PAVLOVAS IN BRITISH SECTION -⁠- NINA AND GALINA, AN ANNOUNCER.”

“LADIES’ DOUBLES “PAVLOVAS.” […] The winners, who literally danced their way into the final, were dubbed the two Pavlovas.”

““Don’t you understand what an honour it is for you that the great Pavlova has her shoes made by you?” he asked. The old man thought awhile and then answered: “Yes, it’s a great honour that she is my client.” And reflecting further, he added: “Yes, but if I had two Pavlovas, I’d be done for.” Pavlova was often approached by shoemakers of all nationalities and in all parts of the world with an offer to supply her regularly, undertaking to provide her annually with any number for her own use free of charge, on condition that she would allow them to advertise that she had found their shoes to be the best.”

“What about making and freezing one or two Pavlovas topped with an orange curd filling for a simple dessert?”

“‘[…] May,’ he called, ‘you can find Miss Thompson some lunch?’ / ‘Of course,’ said May, doing mental arithmetic with prime steaks and slices of Pavlova, and wishing her headache would go away. […] Now if she could get it across to Jocelyn that he really much preferred biscuits and cheese to Pavlova—? ‘Say you don’t want any Pavlova,’ she hissed. ‘It won’t go round.’ / ‘Eh? What’s that, old girl?’ / ‘Pavlova. Say you don’t want any.’ / ‘What’s—? Oh, I know. That meringue thing. No, that’s all right, May. I’ll have cheese and biscuits.’ […] ‘Pavlova, Jocelyn?’ May stood, cake-slice in hand, a noble Brunhild. […] Gaylord said, ‘Henry likes Pavlova better than anything in the world except baked beans on toast, don’t you, Henry.’ […] May said, ‘After you with the cheese, Jocelyn.’ / He looked at her in astonishment. ‘Good Lord, you not having Pavlova?’ […] Gaylord said, ‘If you did Henry some baked beans, Momma, he’d give you his Pavlova. Wouldn’t you, Henry?’”