These glorious frothy white peaks showed great promise. I was borderline euphoric with glee. It was not my original hope of non-Royal Icing but at least I had something to show for my hours of toiling over citric acid. The happiness lasted overnight.
Upon waking, I eagerly stole out into the kitchen, happier than a child on Christmas morning. I was not rewarded for my premature glee. The phrase about chickens, eggs and hatching springs to mind.
I went to work, deflated myself.
None of my staff were the least bit sympathetic.