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Despite being named after a world-class ballerina, I can’t help but think of the pavlova as a rather humble and homely thing. I love the way the billowy whipped cream slumps into the cracked surface of the meringue, making a cozy nest for the fruit to rest. But perhaps the pavlova was named for the way it tastes: an arabesque of sweetness, a leap of airy confection, the beloved pas de deux of fresh fruit and cream. Like Anna Pavlova herself, it’s perfect.

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