plate 3: france

Even though my mum was born in Paris, French cuisine was not something I grew up on. Middle Eastern food is what reigned supreme in my mum’s and grandma’s kitchens, but more of that in the coming weeks.

This week, my nerves had been building up for the French plate, mainly because French cooking is well-respected for being elegant and first-class – everything that my cooking is not. The exact reason why I chose a refined and quintessentially French dish – soufflé au fromage (cheese soufflé).

Some say that a cook’s worst nightmare is a sunken soufflé, but the main reason I’ve been shit-scared all week is because the soufflé technique hinges upon whisking egg whites, and my Achilles heel of cooking is separating eggs. I’ve read that any yolk in the white can cause problems creating beautiful snow-white, voluminous egg whites. 

So how did it go? Miserably. I bought a dozen eggs instead of the required six, just in case, and lucky I did, too, because I ended up smashing a few into the sink when they didn’t work outpouring obscenities as I went. Having no eggs left after a number of failed separation attempts, I had to make do with what I’d done – if it didn’t work, I needed to keep telling myself “c’est la vie”. How appropriate.

By some form of miracle, beating my egg whites into “stiff peaks” actually worked - the bonus here being that I gave my biceps a workout at the same time - and I managed to get my soufflé mixture into the oven without any real hitch. The only major problem was that the mixture was supposed to fill my soufflé dish three-quarters full, whereas mine only made it to just halfway. But, no matter – I was determined to get the dish into the oven no matter what.

I thought once it was in the oven I’d have no other issues, but alas I faced yet another one – my broken oven light. I had no idea whether my soufflé was rising or flopping, browning or burning. After the stipulated time (25-30 mins) I squashed my face up to the oven door trying to sneak a peek. I didn’t want to open the oven for fear of reducing the temperature so much it would cause deflation, but I had no option. A quick look inside revealed it had risen, but not sufficiently, so I left it a tad longer …

Finally it browned and was ready to be pulled out. Sadly I achieved no rise. I know a workman shouldn't ever blame his tools, but I'm seriously thinking I may have used the wrong size dish. Thankfully it didn't ruin the mood - I’d set the table with a few candles, poured some wine and was able to relax. This was even more blissful than usual because AJ and I spent the entire weekend renovating our kitchen floor, so food and wine were to be savoured regardless of what was in front of us. For a first effort though I was pretty happy with the soufflé - although the texture could've been a little fluffier on the palate, I’d never beaten egg whites with a balloon whisk to stiff peaks so that was my main achievement. And while I guess with a soufflé the rise is the prize, the prize for me was the awesome cheesiness of the dish coupled with a glass of pinot.

Recipe this week is courtesy of the 1968 cookbook Recipes: The cooking of Provincial France

If you're feeling brave enough to try to cook a souffle, I recommend following these tips - I didn't find them until after all was said and done, but they're definitely worth a look. Bonne chance!