Lemon Meringue Éclairs Recipe | #site_title (2024)

A recipe for lemon meringue éclairs where choux pastries are filled with lemon pastry cream rather than vanilla, and for their topping, they get a healthy pile of whipped meringue before being toasted under the broiler and then consumed en masse.

My frustration falls, hot and warm, off my chin after leaving wet streaks down my face. I swallow slowly, pushing the lump in my throat to the dark hollow of my stomach, and stare at the freshly painted door. Its white surface unmarred for the first time in years.

Too often I feel as though I am spinning my wheels. I pick up wet socks discarded at the front door and under the dining room table, only for them to appear again just hours later. I fold load after load of laundry, and then my daughter jumps on clean clothes with mud-caked knees. I pour my heart into words and feel as though I am the only one listening to myself speak in an empty room.

My kitchen is clean.

That is what I think about when I pull ingredients from cupboards and refrigerator and set them on the counter next to my scrawled notes. Blank surfaces liberated of their daily clutter, primed for creating. It’s the pleasure of cracking open a new journal: the smell of paper, the pages rustling beneath your fingers, the unmarked landscape. A clean kitchen does the same.

Separating eggs into two bowls, I stick a whisk into the yolks and listen to the whirring as the metal swirls on the bottom of the glass bowl. I appreciate the light click and burst of air as the gas lights on the stove. I find comfort in the way the milk glugs from the glass bottle and sloshes against the walls of the measuring cup. Slowly, I start to remember why I’m here.


My 7-year-old bounds into the kitchen in a whirl of color still sporting mud-caked knees from the spring melt happening outside the door, light sparking in her silver eyes. Weeks’ old purple nail polish chipped to nothing dots her nails, a manicure from the big sister that left lasting marks across the dining room table.

“What are we making?” she quips while dragging the bench up to the counter across from me.

“Éclairs,” I answer while pulling out my phone. “I made a lemon filling, but now we need to make the pastry. Then we’ll fill them up like doughnuts.” Finding the video I am searching for, I hand her my phone and tuck the pastry cream into the refrigerator to cool.

She looks excitedly at me while gesturing with the now quiet video on the phone, “Can we make these kind, too?!” Soon she is cracking eggs and scooping flour, singing about our project, eagerly showing her brothers the video when they, too, come in from the melting snowscape.

When we sit down to dinner that night, extra éclairs shuttled off to the neighbors and bowls filled with soup, I think not of the frustration, but of the fullness of being.

I’ve had “lemon meringue éclairs” scratched on a post-it note on my desk for months. I even transferred it to an electronic version of recipe ideas and pinned it directly to my desktop. There it sat, crowded out by projects and commitments, waiting for me to remember to pick it up again. I used the last of the lingering Meyer lemons in my fruit basket, the ones that hadn’t rotted while waiting, their skin a deep yellow, nearly orange.

The choux pastry logs are filled with lemon pastry cream rather than vanilla, and for their topping they get a healthy pile of whipped meringue before being toasted under the broiler and then consumed en masse. The lemon pastry cream is smooth and silky, subtly sweet and tart at the same time. The meringue like a white, fluffy cloud sits atop a golden brown pastry. Together it’s a balanced bite of crust and cream. Then they’re gone like the daylight, glowing brilliantly before falling beneath the skyline, and all that’s left are the memories. And the dishes.