(And if you haven't, please take a moment to feel chastised: why haven't you? Go. Take a moment to get some eggs out of the fridge -now- so they can come up to temperature. Then come back here. I'll wait.)
Souffle. Beaten eggs. Sugar. Milk? Chocolate? What's your flavor of choice? A cheddar bottom crust? A ganache syrup overlay? A good souffle is divine. A work of art. A gift to the palate. A feat of execution.
But a bad souffle...a bad souffle is tragic. A missed opportunity. A disappointment. A mere shadow of greatness that could have been, or maybe that just moments ago was.
Have you ever ruined a souffle?
Maybe the oven door was opened. Maybe you didn't beat your eggs vigorously. Maybe you underbaked, and the cold air shocked the warm crust. Maybe you overbaked, and all your air bubbles popped. Maybe you needed to contemplate a fallen crust.
All that magic, all that drama, all that warm, crackly dome. All that anticipation.
Sunken into the bottom of the ramekin. Deflated. Saggy, maybe soggy. Over.
Hold that image in your mind, and now let's rearrange some elements.
That cute earthenware ramekin? Switch it out for our beloved, dumpy beige couch. That deflated, inverted, floppy, uneven, past-potential skin?
That's what my post-partum belly looks like right now.
For the candor? The imagery? You're welcome.