Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall by Kate Forster

26

Seth stood on a kitchen chair. He wore a red plastic top hat while Ethan stood next to him wearing a green glittery top hat.

Paul had bought them from the pound shop as a joke but the twins loved them and insisted on wearing them for their roles as scrutineers for the soufflé competition.

While the twins through it was great fun, Christa had never been more determined to win at anything in her life.

Even her finals at Le Cordon Bleu didn’t raise her adrenaline like this moment.

Everything was set out on the benches.

Exactly the same metal bowls. A double-boiler saucepan. Ramekin. A handheld mixer each, which Peggy had bought new so they had the same one of the same make. And the ingredients.

These were the only differences.

Christa had chosen a different butter and chocolate. She had kept her eggs at room temperature while Simon’s were in the refrigerator. She was surprised he did this but maybe he forgot that cold eggs don’t get the same peaks as room temperature ones.

‘The soufflés will be made at the same time. They will be taken into the judge’s room by us, and the tasting will be done. The decision will be made. And the winner of the soufflé competition will be announced.’

Christa took a quick breath in and then let it out slowly, trying to calm her nerves.

Marc wasn’t in the room. He was sitting alone in the dining room, at the insistence of the boys, who said he needed to be far away so he couldn’t cheat.

‘The judge will choose his favourite dish and only then will we discover whose is whose,’ said Seth, reading from the paper of rules that Adam had helped him write.

‘Is there a prize?’ asked Ethan and Christa saw Avian and Simon glance at each other.

‘We will decide that after,’ said Avian, sneering at Christa.

‘The soufflés will be served on the same plates so there will be no disting, disting, disting…’

‘Distinguishing,’ prompted Adam.

‘Between the dishes.’

Seth turned to Christa and Simon.

‘Chefs, your ovens have been heating, so you may now start your soufflés.’

Christa went to work.

First she buttered the soufflé dish with the cultured butter that Peggy had found from a farmer nearby. Then she sugared the inside of the dish, making sure she didn’t miss a single part of the china, knowing the best rise came from a complete coverage of sugar.

Putting the dish aside, she started chopping up the dark chocolate she had found in Petey’s kitchen.

He told her he had the best bittersweet chocolate and he was right. She took a block of Belgian but he gave her another. ‘Just in case,’ he said. ‘Not that you will need it but you will feel safer.’

He was right: she did feel safer with the extra block.

She chopped up the chocolate as fine as she could, wanting it to melt smoothly and at the same time.

She saw Simon tipping his dark chocolate buttons into the double boiler saucepan and putting the water on to simmer.

You wouldn’t get the same melt with buttons, she thought but she wasn’t about to tell him he was making his first mistake.

While the water was simmering, she separated her egg yolks and stood them aside with the whites.

Simon was now melting his chocolate buttons while Christa waited for the water to be at a gentle simmer and then she gently poured the chocolate into the top of the saucepan, sitting over the water. She stirred continuously, while she noticed Simon letting it sit for a moment, separating an egg and then stepping back and vigorously stirring the chocolate again, breaking down the lumps.

If she was supervising him as an apprentice, she would have told him to throw it all out and start again.

Focus, Christa, she told herself. Put into the soufflé everything you feel and love.

She stirred slowly, coaxing the chocolate into a smooth stream, watching it dissolve with each turn of the spoon.

She thought about Marc and the boys. She thought about when Marc’s hand held hers or when the boys told her she looked pretty in her woollen hat. She thought about Petey and Peggy and their friendship and she thought about the old pub. Even though that hadn’t become hers, everything else was beautiful and special. Whatever happened with Marc, she knew she would stay in York now. It felt like home more than London ever had.

After taking the saucepan off the heat, she let the chocolate cool slightly while she put cream of tartar into the egg whites and then turned on her beaters. As the soft peaks began to form she put in a tablespoon of sugar as she beat the mixture, and then rested it for a moment.

Then she went back to the chocolate and tipped in the eggs yolks and salt and whisked them together.

‘All okay, Christa? Need a hand?’ asked Simon and she resisted the urge to throw an egg at him.

‘Fine, thanks,’ she said. ‘I hope you have your bags packed already.’

Simon laughed as though she had just told the greatest joke in the world.

‘I should pretend I’m on the show already, shouldn’t I? I could talk my way through what I’m doing for you all.’

‘Please don’t,’ said Christa. ‘You voice will make my egg whites drop.’

Christa heard Paul laugh but she ignored it and Simon went back to whipping his eggs whites.

When the sugar was dissolved in the egg whites, she then brought the chocolate to the bench. She whisked in some of the egg whites to lighten the mixture and then gently folded in the remaining egg whites. Light touch, light touch, she thought as she remembered the times Marc had held her hand, touched her arm, the looks she saw him giving her when he thought she didn’t notice.

She then carefully put the mixture into the prepared dish and expertly ran her thumb around the inside of the dish to create a small space between the soufflé and the dish.

‘Ready?’ she asked Simon who was now pouring his mixture into his dish.

‘Any moment,’ he said and she turned down her oven to the baking temperature she needed for such a delicate dish.

She opened the oven and took the baking sheet from the floor of the oven that she had placed there earlier and put the soufflé onto a baking tray, as did Simon.

And then she slid it into the oven, and closed the door.

‘Twenty-five to thirty-five minutes,’ he announced to the kitchen.

Christa suddenly felt sick. She wasn’t sure if it was the close proximity to Simon’s ego or the nerves she felt.

‘I need to go outside,’ she said. ‘I need air.’ She pushed past Simon and out the back door.

The boys and Paul and Adam rushed out behind her. ‘Do you need a doctor?’ asked Adam, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

‘No, I just need air,’ she said and sat in the cold, on the bench by the back door.

‘I’ll get you some water,’ said Paul.

‘It’s okay, I promise,’ Christa said, as the boys sat on either side of her.

‘It’s cold out here – go inside,’ she said to them but Seth took her hand and Ethan the other one.

‘Do you want some Skittles?’ whispered Ethan, pulling out a packet and shaking them at Christa.

‘Your mum better not see those,’ she said.

‘Peggy got them for me,’ whispered Ethan. ‘She lets me have things, just like you do.’

Christa pulled him to her in a little hug.

‘Thank you, Ethan,’ she said.

‘Boys, come inside,’ she heard Avian say as she tapped on the window behind them.

Reluctantly the boys stood up. Christa felt the packet of Skittles being put into her hand and Ethan looked her in the eye.

‘Take one every fifteen minutes, and you will feel better soon, I promise.’