I made my first souffle this week. And it turns out it wasn't as scary or nail biting as I'd always been led to believe.
Eggs and timing. That's all there is to it. Which is always the way with eggs. And life too for that matter.
You've got to get your oven hot, your white sauce thick, and your egg whites whipped into a frenzy of stiff peaks. And then it's all just a matter of sit back and watch as it rises in golden triumph, light as air but heavenly rich in flavor.
Just as with all things, to really appreciate it you have to live in the moment. Seize the souffle! Enjoy its magical rise to greatness because it will deflate while you watch, right before your eyes! its puffed pompadour will loosen and spring back, receding. It is a thing of beauty; rife with innuendo, fleeting in its perfection and consistent in its demeanor.
I wanted to take a photo of it, my first, but P-Daddy insisted, "No, look! You can see it deflating right before our eyes!" I gave in to timing, accepted the wild applause of the children, and pierced the center with fork and spoon, revealing egg air. Delicious, golden, diaphanous poufs that left us all wanting more.
I know there are many much more important things going on at the moment. There are more strikes this week in France. A miraculous story of survival and rescue is playing out in Chile. My children have begun lying to me in French. But sometimes you have to make souffle. Don't be afraid. I hope you make your own. And enjoy every minute of its ephemeral beauty.