A DICTIONARY TEST

For a snap judgement on a dictionary, I use the Pavlova test. Turn to the entry for this antipodean confection, a muscular structure of meringue and fruit with a tutu of whipped cream, and see whether your favourite lexicon tells you the dates of Madame Pavlova’s visits Down Under. Observe whether it favours New Zealand or Australia as the origin (several thousand bloggers are happy to give their opinions); a dictionary with unlimited space would discuss the rival claims of Henry Sachse (Perth, 1935) and Davis Dainty Dishes (Davis Gelatine Co, NZ, 1927) together with the outsider claim of Dr Pavlov, a tribute to the specialist in mouth-wateringness. Further study would record whether it specifies the fruit content. I like to think that the choice of strawberry, kiwi fruit (erstwhile Chinese gooseberry), mango, or passion fruit might relate to a balletomane chef dreaming of the Dying Swan, dying of, respectively, TB, chlorosis, jaundice, or a broken heart. And at the very least let it not omit “pav” (Aust. informal). The Chambers Dictionary’s score on this scale is subminimal. No location at all, no mention of rivalry, no specification of fruit, no pav; though it does give the dancer’s dates (not perhaps of prime lexical significance), and in passing I acquired the valuable “ockerism” (“or Ockerism”), defined curtly as “boorishness in Australians”.

A logophile's asylum - TLS Highlights - Times Online