Sweet as it tastes, this much-loved dessert has a bitter history. As is the case with both hummus and hamburgers, the pavlova’s birthplace is hotly disputed, with Australia and New Zealand each claiming credit for the idea of crowning towers of billowing meringue with clouds of snowy cream and tumbling fruit.

Regular shots are fired back and forth across the Tasman Sea, most recently when a Kiwi energy company ‘declared war’ by installing an advert at Auckland Airport baggage reclaim stating: ‘Home is where the pavlova was really created’. Reactions on the other side of ‘the ditch’ were outraged: ‘Nice of them to promote tourism to Australia’ was one online comment.

The feud goes all the way to the top, as then Kiwi prime minister Jacinda Ardern discovered when she arrived in Melbourne to find a DIY pavlova kit in her hotel room — prompting her partner to question whether this represented a “sense of humour or diplomatic incident”. King Charles must have been unaware of the simmering controversy when he boldly praised Sydney’s “world famous cuisine … whether it’s smashed avo, a pav or a cab sav” in a speech at the city’s Parramatta Park last year.

Yet, in truth, the pavlova’s precise origins are shrouded in mystery. It was almost certainly named for the great prima ballerina Anna Pavlova, from St Petersburg — probably to celebrate her hugely successful 1926 tour of Australia and New Zealand. This wasn’t uncommon practice at the time; peach melba was invented at London’s Savoy Hotel to pay tribute to the Australian soprano Dame Nellie Melba, while Britain’s Garibaldi biscuit honours the Italian revolutionary, who was given a rapturous welcome on a visit to these shores. Such was the vogue for sprinkling stardust over a menu that, at the height of Pavlova’s career, you can find mention of sponge cakes, layered jellies and ‘a popular variety of American ice-cream’ all bearing her name, too.

Although the meringue number is now the last pavlova standing, at the time it was simply a rebranding of an existing dessert — a fixture in the patisserie repertoire long before Anna pirouetted onto the world stage. Food historian Janet Clarkson suggests “neither Australia nor New Zealand invented the meringue, because the meringue was invented before they were”. And while many trace meringue’s origins to 18th-century Switzerland, in Clarkson’s blog, the Old Foodie, she dates the first recorded recipe to the 1604 collection of a Lady Elinor Fettiplace.

Annabelle Utrecht, a Queensland-based writer, has devoted the past decade to digging into the history of the pavlova, prompted by an online argument with a Kiwi acquaintance. In the course of their research, the pair discovered that by the 18th century, “large meringue constructions incorporating cream and fruit elements could be found in aristocratic kitchens across German-speaking lands, so the thing we call a pavlova today is actually more than two centuries old”.

Naturally, everyone wanted a slice of this noble pie, and recipes began to appear: the vacherin, a meringue bowl filled with whipped cream or ice cream, fruit and syrup-infused sponge cake, often credited to the 19th-century French chef Marie-Antoine Carême; the baked alaska; the German schaum (‘foam’) torte. Even English writer Mrs Beeton includes a meringue gateau, filled with macerated strawberries and whipped cream, in her 1861 recipe collection. It therefore seems likely that the pavlova probably arrived in both New Zealand and Australia with European immigrants long before Pavlova herself.

Of course, few dishes spring fully formed from nowhere, but when did the idea of a meringue topped with cream and fruit begin to be known as a ‘pavlova’ — or a ‘pav’, if you speak Antipodean? The earliest mention of something resembling the modern pavlova labelled as such can be found in the 1929 New Zealand Dairy Exporter Annual, contributed by a reader, although this version seems to have been layered more like a French dacquoise.

The next-earliest, from the Rangiora Mothers’ Union Cookery Book of Tried and Tested Recipes, of 1933, is also Kiwi. Australia’s first claim to the dish dates from 1935, when Herbert ‘Bert’ Sachse, the chef at Perth’s Esplanade Hotel, was asked to come up with something new for the afternoon tea menu. Manager Harry Nairn apparently remarked that his creation was “as light as Pavlova”, and the legend was born.

However, one of Sachse’s descendants contacted Helen Leach, a culinary anthropologist at the University of Otago, to suggest their ancestor may have confused the dates, given Pavlova’s death in 1931. And in a 1973 interview, Sachse himself explained his creation was an adaptation of a recipe from Australian Woman’s Mirror magazine, submitted by a New Zealand resident.

When questioned by Australian newspaper The Beverley Times, the ‘silver-haired great grandfather’ mused that he’d “always regretted that the meringue cake was invariably too hard and crusty, so I set out to create something that would have a crunchy top and would cut like a marshmallow”. This, according to Utrecht’s Kiwi research partner Dr Andrew Paul Wood, makes Western Australia-born Sachse unusual among his countrymen: “I think the Australian meringue is crunchier … the New Zealand one is more marshmallowy inside,” Wood told The Sydney Morning Herald’s Good Food guide.

In her 2024 book Sift, British pastry chef and cookery book author Nicola Lamb writes that adding cornflour to the meringue base, as both Sachse and the New Zealand Dairy Exporter Annual reader suggest, “helps promote [this] marshmallowy, thick texture”. For maximum squishiness, however, Lamb recommends shaping the mixture into a tall crown, ‘as it’s more difficult for the heat to penetrate the thick meringue walls’; if you prefer crunchy all the way through, go for a shallow bowl shape.

Whatever texture you choose, once the meringue has cooled completely it’s generally filled with whipped cream — usually unsweetened, given the sugar in the meringue, although it may be flavoured with vanilla — and then your choice of fruit. Australian cultural historian Dr Carmel Cedro agrees with Wood that not only do the two countries disagree over the correct texture for a pavlova, but on appropriate toppings. “Here, passion fruit is a must,” she told Australia’s ABC News, “whereas [in New Zealand], they would never do that; it’s always kiwi fruit.”

In recent years, however, this classic summer dessert — or, if you’re Down Under, festive favourite — has gone as rogue as its history. Australian food stylist and author Donna Hay has published countless recipes for everything from a banoffee pavlova to a baked pavlova and upside-down and frozen versions, and even a festive raspberry swirl pavlova wreath.

South African restaurateur, broadcaster and writer Prue Leith, meanwhile, has a vegan-friendly take using aquafaba and coconut milk, while English food writer and TV cook Nigella Lawson gifted the world the chocolate pavlova paired with raspberries. And although pavlova isn’t typically seen as a gourmet creation, Australian chef Peter Gilmore’s signature dessert at Bennelong, the Sydney Opera House’s fine-dining restaurant, takes it high end. Inspired by the architecture of the building itself, it features white meringue sails atop perfect spikes of whipped cream and Italian meringue filled with passion fruit curd.

When it comes to pavlova, it seems, there’s one for every taste. Although the caviar and cranberry number recently dreamed up by a firm of Polish fish farmers might prove the one pav neither Australia nor New Zealand wants to claim as their own.

Cibo, Auckland
Hidden away in a former chocolate factory in Parnell, Cibo has been described as one of Auckland’s best-kept secrets, although it’s still won numerous awards over the past three decades. There are usually at least two pavlovas on offer: a fruit version (classic strawberry and kiwi, for example) and one with salted caramel, peanut and chocolate dust.

Floriditas, Wellington
When The Sydney Morning Herald praises a New Zealand pavlova, the dessert has to be doing something right — although this much-loved bistro doesn’t make things easy for itself. Instead of the classic recipe using white caster sugar, Floriditas opts for brown sugar, which is damper and more temperamental, but which gives the meringue base a deeper, richer flavour. Fruit varies with the seasons, from strawberries in summer to tamarillos in autumn.

Ester, Sydney
Forget hovering anxiously in front of the oven to ensure your snowy meringue doesn’t take on even the merest hint of tan — at this Sydney neighbourhood joint (which comes highly recommended by Nigella Lawson) they char them in a wood-fired oven at a toasty 600C. That’s a full 500C hotter than most recipes recommend, giving them the distinct look of a marshmallow toasted over a campfire. The accompaniments vary; they might be nectarine and yoghurt or passion fruit and elderflower, for example.

Snow White Bakery, Melbourne
Overwhelming local enthusiasm for this tiny bakery’s classic pavlova — an unapologetically traditional tower of meringue, cream and icing-sugar-dusted berries — may be less of a news story than baker Tegan’s Vegemite-infused take on the beloved Australian lamington (a cake), but it’s probably more of a crowd-pleaser.

To celebrate summer, I’ve chosen a mix of berries with a touch of passion fruit as a nod to the dessert’s Antipodean roots — but feel free to use any in-season fruit.

Serves: 8-10
Takes: 2 hrs 5 mins plus cooling

For the meringue
250g egg whites (6-8 eggs, depending on size)
½ tsp cream of tartar
400g caster sugar
2 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp white vinegar
2 tsp cornflour
pinch of salt

For the cream
400ml double cream
150g mascarpone
50g icing sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract

For the berry filling
500g mixed berries (strawberries, raspberries, blueberries and blackberries), washed, patted dry
2-3 passion fruit (optional)

Use a plate or cake tin around 24cm in diameter to trace a circle on a sheet of baking paper. Place the sheet ink-side down on a large baking tray and set aside. Preheat the oven to 150C, fan 130C and position the oven rack in the bottom third of the oven.

For the meringue, place the egg whites in an electric mixer bowl with the whisk attachment, and beat on medium-high speed until frothy, about 1 min. Add the cream of tartar and continue to whisk until soft peaks form (3-4 mins), then gradually add the sugar, 1 tbsp at a time. Whisk constantly until the mix turns thick and glossy, 8-10 mins. Reduce the speed to low and add the vanilla, vinegar, cornflour and salt, then increase to medium-high speed and whisk for 1 min until combined.

Dab a little meringue under the four corners of the baking paper so that it sticks to the tray, then spoon the rest onto the centre of the traced circle. Use a flexible spatula to spread it into an even circle then form a shallow crater in the middle by gently circling it with the back of a spoon. Place the tray onto the bottom rack of the oven and immediately lower the temperature to 120C, fan 100C. Bake for 1 hr 45 mins without opening the door, then switch the oven off, leaving the meringue to cool completely in the oven for 2 hrs or overnight.

Just before serving, place all the ingredients for the cream in an electric mixer bowl with the whisk attachment and beat on medium until soft peaks form.

Using the flat metal base of a tart tin or similar, loosen the base of the meringue from the baking paper and carefully transfer to a serving plate. Spoon the whipped cream mixture into the centre of the pavlova and spread to the edges. Gently place some of the larger berries on top of the cream, then tuck the smaller berries in and around them. Spoon the pulp of the passion fruit on top (if using), allowing it to dribble down the pavlova. Serve immediately.