Whenever I imagine an intimate, candlelit dinner for two, there are certain foods that are always on the menu, like lobster, oysters, decadent dark chocolate and a fluffy, ethereal soufflé – especially the soufflé. To me, a soufflé is the ultimate indulgence, reserved for only the most special occasions. Maybe because it’s French, and I find all things French impossibly romantic and luxurious. There’s a certain mystique about the soufflé. It has the reputation of being temperamental, unpredictable and a tad capricious. There’s no doubt about it. The soufflé is a diva. And, divas often get away with their bad behavior because they are brilliant and adored.
Until today, I’d always worshipped the soufflé from afar. Too fickle for me! I like a sure thing, and a chocolate cake has never let me down. But there comes a time when you have to face your fears and this was my time. After all, didn’t I overcome my aversion to dough? And, what about when I stared my terror of deep frying right in the eye and kicked its butt? I even survived two Yule Logs and lived to tell about it. If I could do all that, I figured one poufy, phoofy, Valentine’s Day soufflé couldn’t take me down. read more >>
