Such Great Heights
She beats eggs until they billow above the lip of her bowl. They form shiny, stiff peaks.
A chocolate custard, smooth, thick, voluptuous, bubbles on the stove.
She gently folds them together, until the white disappears.
Lovingly spoons the mixture into a ridged, round dish, capped with a parchment crown.
Slides it into the oven.
Waits. Glides quietly through the house. Hums to Chopin on the radio.
Opens the oven door and spies a lift so high, it rises above the parchment.
Giddy, she removes the souffle: Airy. Light.
Within moments, it falls. And sinks. And slumps: Dense. Heavy.
Failed.
My mouth watered as I read your 100 words and then a feeling of despair... no souffle today. Loved the line, "Lovingly spoons the mixture into a ridged, round dish, capped with a parchment crown."
ReplyDeleteI love your take on failure, a much different and lighter spin than some. And I love baking, so this was particularly interesting to me!
ReplyDeleteThis is what would happen should I ever make an attempt at baking.
ReplyDeleteOh, this is wonderful!!
ReplyDeletethis is GREAT!
ReplyDeleteMmm...I would still eat it even if it was slightly slumped. I bet it wouldn't be a taste fail! :)
ReplyDeleteI could smell that chocolate souffle as it cooked. I would so eat it, failed or not!
ReplyDeleteWonderful imagery. I could smell the chocolatey goodness, and felt a pang of disappointment when the souffle fell.
ReplyDelete