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“What's a soufflé?" I sigh, for that is how the word sounds. Soft and sweet as a summer breeze. I repeat the word in my head: Soufflé. Soufflé. "You beat eggs as light as air. And you make a batter of cream and butter, very fresh and the butter as bright as possible and cut very small. Then you flavor it. Master Soyer likes to use an Italian cheese or sometimes the finest bitter chocolate. And into the oven, where it rises so tall you cannot believe it. And when you bite in, it's like having cloud upon your tongue." Jack smacks his lips together. I stir absently at the gruel and wish we had a few currants to sweeten it. And as I think of currants, all manner of other dried fruits swim before my eyes. I've seen them at market in Tonbridge. Great mounds of wizened shining prunes and raisins, orange peel crusted white with sugary syrup, rings of apple like the softest, palest leather.” — Annabel Abbs