Florence-Inspired Soufflé

October leaves on the magnolias and the maples. Three days of counseling at the middle school in East Point. The work was the work.

Daddy in his apartment in the back. I brought him his coffee and his medication this morning. He grumbled. The grumble was the love. I caught the smell of Mama's seasoning blend at the stove Tuesday morning. Just for a second. The grief comes when it comes.

Pot roast Sunday. Five hours low. The kitchen smelled like Sunday from breakfast on.

Marcus, 20, studying for finals at Alabama. Jasmine, 18, home from Howard for the weekend.

Sunday dinner held. The table was full. The food was right.

Sunday service at New Birth this morning. The choir sang. I sang soprano in the second alto row. Pastor preached about Naomi and Ruth. The congregation said amen. I said amen.

Derek and I had date night Friday. Same restaurant, same booth, same enchiladas for me and carne asada for him.

Pastor preached about the prodigal son again. He preaches about that boy at least three times a year. The text is the text but every preaching is different. I cried in the second service this time. Don't ask me why.

Thursday I made cornbread for a sister at church whose husband had surgery. I dropped it off at the hospital. She cried at the door. I told her, eat the cornbread, baby. The food is the saying.

I had a hard counseling case at school this week. A seventh-grade girl whose mama lost her job. We talked. I gave her my number. I told her she could call.

Wednesday Bible study at the church. We read through Proverbs. The women in my row argued about whether wisdom is built or born. I said both. They agreed, sort of.

Daddy sat in his chair after dinner watching the news. He fell asleep before the third quarter. Standard.

Tuesday evening I sat at the kitchen table with my composition notebook and worked on the cookbook. From Brenda's Kitchen — that's the working title. I cannot write the introduction without crying yet.

I went to the cemetery Saturday morning. Brenda's grave is on the hill at South-View. Curtis still goes most Sundays. I left a small bouquet of magnolias.

Darnell sent a photo from Clarksville. The garden is producing. He grew tomatoes the size of softballs. I sent him back a photo of my sweet potato casserole. We are competitive about food now in our middle age.

Miss Ernestine called Tuesday. She's ninety-something and sharp as ever. She told me my potato salad still needs more mustard.

The neighbors had a Friday cookout this week. I brought my mac and cheese. They have come to expect this. I have come to expect this. The block is the block.

I made a casserole for the church potluck. The pan came back empty. That is the only review I trust.

The kids were home for the weekend. The house was loud the way it should be.

The blood pressure check was Wednesday. The numbers were borderline. The doctor wants me to walk more. I am walking more.

Andre called from LA. He told the Kevin Hart story again. Twenty-some years and that boy is still telling that story. Everyone in this family is going to hear about Kevin Hart at our funerals.

I drove to the Walmart on Camp Creek Saturday morning. The kind of grocery run that takes two hours because you run into three people you know. Sister Patrice caught me in the produce. We talked about her grandbaby for fifteen minutes.

Sunday dinner is the one ritual I will not negotiate away — not for schedules, not for fatigue, not for anything. This week, with Jasmine home from Howard and the house finally loud the way it should be, I wanted to put something on the table that said effort, that said you matter, that said I thought about this before you got here. A soufflé is that kind of cooking — humble ingredients, patient hands, and a little faith that it will rise. Mama would have approved. She always said the fanciest thing you can do for somebody is make them feel expected.

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 35 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 6

Ingredients

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more for greasing the dish
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup whole milk, warmed
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
4 large eggs, separated, at room temperature
1 cup (about 4 oz) finely shredded Gruyère cheese
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, divided
1 cup frozen chopped spinach, thawed and squeezed very dry
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar

Instructions

Prepare the dish. Preheat oven to 375°F. Generously butter a 1.5-quart soufflé dish and dust the interior with 2 tablespoons of the Parmesan. Tap out any excess and set aside.
Build the base. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt the 3 tablespoons of butter. Add garlic and cook for 30 seconds until fragrant. Whisk in the flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 1 to 2 minutes until the mixture smells nutty and turns a pale gold.
Make the béchamel. Gradually whisk in the warm milk, a little at a time, until the sauce is smooth and thickened, about 3 to 4 minutes. Remove from heat. Season with salt, pepper, and nutmeg.
Add cheese and spinach. Stir in the Gruyère and remaining 2 tablespoons Parmesan until melted. Fold in the squeezed-dry spinach. Let the mixture cool for 5 minutes, then stir in the egg yolks one at a time until fully incorporated.
Whip the whites. In a clean, dry bowl, beat the egg whites with the cream of tartar using a hand or stand mixer on medium-high speed until stiff, glossy peaks form, about 3 to 4 minutes. Do not overbeat.
Fold gently. Stir one large spoonful of egg whites into the cheese mixture to lighten it. Then add the remaining whites in two additions, folding carefully with a rubber spatula — use a wide, sweeping motion to keep as much air as possible. A few white streaks are fine.
Bake. Pour the batter into the prepared soufflé dish. Run your thumb around the inside rim to create a small channel (this helps the soufflé rise straight and tall). Bake on the center rack for 30 to 35 minutes, until puffed and deep golden on top. Do not open the oven door during baking.
Serve immediately. Bring the soufflé straight to the table and serve at once — it will begin to settle within a few minutes, which is perfectly natural and still delicious.

Nutrition (per serving)

Florence-Inspired Soufflé — The Sunday Table Still Holds