Remove wire racks from oven and place a baking sheet directly on oven floor. Heat oven to 400ºC (390ºF). Generously butter a 1-litre or 6-cup soufflé dish. Coat bottom and sides thoroughly with sugar, tapping out excess. For the best rise, make sure there is sugar covering all the butter on the sides of the dish.
In a medium bowl, melt chocolate and butter either in the microwave or in a bowl over a pot of simmering water. Let cool only slightly (it should still be warm), then whisk in egg yolks and salt.
Using an electric mixer, beat egg whites and cream of tartar at medium speed until the mixture is fluffy and holds very soft peaks. Add sugar, one tablespoon at a time, beating until whites hold stiff peaks and look glossy.
Gently whisk a quarter of the egg whites into the chocolate mixture to lighten it. Fold in remaining whites in two additions, then transfer batter to prepared dish. Rub your thumb around the inside edge of the dish to create about a ¼-inch space between the dish and the soufflé mixture.
Transfer dish to baking sheet in the oven, and reduce oven temperature to 190ºC (375ºF). Bake until soufflé is puffed and centre moves only slightly when dish is shaken gently, about 25 to 35 minutes. (Do not open oven door during first 20 minutes.) Bake it a little less for a runnier soufflé and a little more for a firmer soufflé. Serve immediately.
28
‘We’re going back to America,’ Marc told the boys as they came inside after Christa left.
‘No,’ the boys cried and tears followed but Marc didn’t listen to their protestations.
Simon had stumbled to the kitchen and Avian followed him.
‘I’m calling the police,’ she screamed at Marc.
‘Good, please do, tell them I said hi,’ he answered her as he took a packet of frozen beans from the freezer and put them on his knuckles.
‘You go with Avian and I’ll stay with Marc,’ whispered Adam to Paul who had followed them to the kitchen but Marc heard him.
‘I don’t need babysitting,’ he snapped at Adam as he took the stairs two at a time to his study.
‘I’m not babysitting you, I’m seeing if you’re okay,’ Adam replied. ‘You did just hit someone and screamed at your children and…’
‘And?’ Marc stood in his study and crossed his arms.
‘Nothing,’ Adam said.
‘Bullshit, what were you going to say?’ Marc demanded.
‘Forget about it.’
Adam sat on a chair. ‘So you want to go home? Want me to organise a plane?’
Marc didn’t answer as he sat in his desk chair and looked outside at the grey day.
‘I’m sick of it here anyway,’ he said. ‘I need some sun.’
He couldn’t believe that wasn’t Christa’s soufflé. He swore he could have tasted anything she cooked and known it was her. There was something special about her food; it was thoughtful, not flashy yet elegant, just like her.
‘Actually,’ he said, not looking at Adam, ‘you can put this place on the market. I don’t think I’ll come back here again.’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Adam said. ‘Stop this crap. Go and see her, talk to her. It was a stupid bet; it doesn’t mean you won’t see her again.’
Marc spun around in his chair, staring down Adam. He was furious at his feelings for Christa being so exposed when they were so new, so he did what any man would do: he denied and deflected.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Christa!’ Adam cried.
Marc turned away from him again. He could see Bill in the distance, riding the mower towards the top fields.
‘This isn’t about her,’ said Marc. It was mostly true but there was one thing he couldn’t get over. That he was wrong. He was never wrong but apparently he was this time, about someone that meant more to him than anything else.
Adam sat in silence while Marc gathered his thoughts into something that wasn’t a volcano that resulted in him using his fists on Simon again.
