Scent of White Chocolate

For the past week, I have been picking up the mail and smelling white chocoloate. Now whether you are such a culinary snob that you disdain white chocolate or just an Atkins maniac, you can't help but be enveloped and captivated by the rich scent of the tiny, undistinguished yellow flowers of Azara microphylla. It blooms in late winter here in the great Pacific Northwest, right after the honeysuckle, about the same time as the crocus, and before the hydrangea leaves form. Its beautiful, evergreen foliage is composed of tiny lacy green leaves that almost glisten in the winter sun. No wonder that I felt inspired to try Shirley Corriher’s Chocolate Soufflé with White Chocolate from her amazing Cookwise.

Despite the subtitle No More Failed Recipes, the first time I tried this recipe, it failed. She hadn’t specified the size of ramekin, and I assumed that mine were a standard size, since I see them all the time at stores, thrifts and restaurants. The first sign that something was going awry was the fourteen ramekins of soufflé on my countertop instead of 8. The second sign, of course, was sticking my spoon into the soufflé, and encountering resistance instead of parting, billowy clouds of hot moist soufflé with dollops of white chocolate at the bottom. They were weird cupcakes, but Dale and I ate about a half dozen, and I took the rest to the office (where they were snatched up by the time I got back from the plot machine).

So I emailed Ms Corriher, asking what gives. I had continuous problems with another recipe of hers, the Tunnel of Fudge Cake, and wanted to get to the bottom of why I only have problems with her recipes. Was the oven temperature off? Were the ramekins too small as I thought? Did I use the wrong ingredients? Well, what do you know, but she called me the next day at work. I felt like some housewife on Martha when Martha calls, or worse, that closeted queen she dug up around Halloween—OK, not that bad. She suggested a remote digital thermometer to track my oven temperature, and using a pizza stone to maintain an even temperature. Luckily I have both, but used neither: I forgot I had lent out the stone, and my two thermometers had different temperatures, which will require buying a third to figure out which is correct.

This second batch came out fine, mainly because I left them in for a lot shorter of time. I scooped up spoon after spoon of warm billowy clouds of moist chocolate soufflé and chunks of molten white chocolate as I looked out onto my front yard, and wondered what other flavors could be coaxed to grow in my garden.