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I made my favorite chocolate raspberry pavlova today. It’s the kind of dessert that deserves its own classification, not a cake but not a macaron either. It’s the kind of dessert I reserve for once a year. The meringue was crunchy on the outside and sticky and sweet on the inside. “Squidgy” Nigella declares, using that quirky English-ism that’s neither Julia Child nor Harold McGee. I put a crème fraîche on top instead of whipped topping because I like the tanginess of it. And of course, raspberries. This year, I splurged on a block of Callebaut unsweetened chocolate and what a difference a superior chocolate makes. Now that I’ve had a year’s worth of experience making pavlovas, I’m no longer worried that it won’t come out. It’s supposed to crack and collapse under the weight of its own superiority.