Isn't spontaneity a Wonderful Thing™? Touchstone of creativity, litmus of excitement, spark-plug of desire, and the only possible deterrent to Dullness, according to a former spouse of mine. For the sake of anonymity and in order to prevent litigation and to avoid such clumsy phrases as "my ex-wife" and "that ball-busting bitch," I'll just call the woman in question Ms Take.
So frequently did Ms Take praise spontaneity in creative efforts and denounce predictability in any effort, that I eventually came to realize that she believes spontaneity is creativity. Even logic, in her universe, suffers equation with dullness beside the preferable spontaneity of epiphany, intuition, and revelation. Genius itself, to hear her expound, is unbidden thought. If history books were written according to Ms Take's dicta, Einstein's Theory of Relativity would not be deemed genius—too much calculation—nor would Mozart's Requiem—too many explicit instructions in the commission.
Any time Ms Take wanted to put me down with a quick verbal stroke (i.e., whenever she was losing an argument) she would accuse me of predictability, usually with a shake of her head and a little dismissive chuckle: "Oh, you're so predictable." Boring repetition of meals was deemed predictable (somehow, her favorite ice cream appears to be immune to such categorization). Movies she did not wish to watch for a second time or activities she did not wish to repeat were likewise denounced for their lack of spontaneity. Life with Ms Take meant she could, at any time, decide that any planned activity was not worth her while, simply by virtue of having been planned. This meant any claim such as "We've been preparing for this for months" could be trumped with some Kahlil-Gibran-level dogmatic folderol like "Life is too precious to be thrown away on prepackaged experiences." Wouldn't it be nice if we could call American Airlines at the last minute and argue, "I'm sorry, you have to refund the cost of those tickets in full. The flight plan lacks spontaneity."
The worst aspect of Ms Take's worship at the altar of spontaneity was not, however, her use of predictable, nor was it her use of spontaneity as an appeal to illogic. The worst was its effect on my sex life.
I discovered early in our relationship that maintaining any sex life at all with Ms Take took a bit of concentrated seduction. She was always slow to arouse. For a while, I thought I could handle that. I tried getting the kids out of the house and preparing special meals for her. I tried seducing her in semi-public places. I tried dinner and dancing. I tried sexy clothes. I tried a night out followed by a stay in a nice hotel. I tried blue movies and sex toys.
Lucky me. Nearly every variation I tried worked.
Unlucky me. They only worked once.
If I tried the dinner for two more often than once a month, it bored her. If I tried the hotel stay more than once a year—hadn't we just done that? If I tried the movies or toys too often, I was relying on artificial accoutrements to do the work for me, thereby doubly damning myself as predictable and lazy.
If you think this spontaneity gambit is easy, try coming up with a different seduction every night for—oh, say a month. It saps your strength, dampens your resolve, and probably causes stress-induced halitosis. After a couple of weeks, I would get fed up with trying, beaten down by rejection, my head pounding at the prospect of coming up with yet another brilliant and original ploy for getting Ms Take's juices flowing.
When you're married to Ms Take, you masturbate.
A lot.
[Note to self: some day, when I'm feeling truly pissy toward Ms Take, I must remember to tell her that being married to her made me feel like a teenager.]
Princess V and I never seem to have problems with this matter of repetition. Oh, sure, repetition of even the sweatiest wild-animal sex acts could get old after a while—if it were the only act we entertained. The point is moot, however, since that's never been the case in any of my relationships. I like variety. During sex, I usually want to do everything, all at once. We shift, change places, swap rôles, romp around (assuming no one's tied down), and generally have a great time. Sometimes, we do run through the same set of variants over and over again for several nights running. Does this constitute a lack of spontaneity? I would argue that it actually does not (if for no other reason than the simple finite range of human sexual experience). Okay, on a grand scale it might: no spontaneity in relying on the same set of maneuvers. On a granular scale, though, we're not relying on a script. Nothing says which act goes when or how many times each is repeated.
When you're married to Ms Take, you also learn to let her fix most of her own meals. I put up with the sexual dysfunction a lot longer than the gustatory demands. All it took was hearing, "Didn't we just have this?" about one of my meals to quell any pride I'd previously held in preparing her dinners.
Princess V and the kids have favorite meals. The girlchild is always happy to get oyster beef with broccoli. The boychild loves carne guisada. Every Thursday, when boychild goes off to spend the night with his mom, we have shrimp (or scallops or lobster—boychild won't eat these), which always makes Princess V smile. Nobody wants the same meal every night, nor do they want the same dessert every time.
Still, I must admit, I've never heard anyone whine, "Chocolate soufflé again?" Somehow, I don't expect to.
Chocolate soufflé
dramatis personae
- special equipment: double boiler, mixer, dessert ramekins
- some granulated sugar
- some unsalted butter
- 6 ounces semi-sweet chocolate
- 3 tablespoons amaretto
- ¼ cup heavy whipping cream
- five extra-large egg whites
- four extra-large egg yolks
- ½ teaspoon cream of tartar
quality of ingredients
Which chocolate? Hell, you got me. Real chocolate, certainly. Molding chocolate tastes like candle wax. I buy the baking chocolate squares, but I've also used Nestle's™ chips. It's easier to measure the squares (one square equals one ounce), but the measurement isn't really critical. I know that six ounces works. I also know that a couple hands full of chips works. Semi-sweet seems about the best level of sugar for most of us. I've used bittersweet chocolate for mousses, but I want a little more sweetness in my soufflés.
I don't know much about amaretto, but I have used DiSaronno and the cheaper stuff. The cheaper stuff disappears, leaving nary a hint of almond. The DiSaronno adds a rich, warm flavor.
Most cookbooks assume that an egg is a large egg. I use extra-large eggs. If you want to use large eggs, you'll probably want five yolks and six whites.
When separating yolks and white, I recommend you do so with your (clean) bare hands: just let the white slips through your fingers. You're less likely to break the yolks in your hands than while juggling back and forth between jagged eggshells.
notes on preparation
Prep six individual ramekins (I think mine hold about a half cup of liquid, but I honestly haven't measured—personal dessert size) as follows:
- Coat the inside of each ramekin with butter.
- Pour some sugar (roughly two tablespoons—you know: some) into one ramekin and swirl it around to coat the bottom.
- Slowly pour the sugar out of the first ramekin into a second ramekin while turning the first ramekin to coat the sides completely with sugar.
- Repeat this swirl and pour-while-turning method until all six ramekins are coated with sugar-frosted butter.
- Put the ramekins in the top shelf of your fridge.
This ritual is not to make the ramekins easier to clean. Without this coating, the soufflés will stick at the sides and collapse.
Melt the chocolate in a double boiler. Add the amaretto while the chocolate is melting. Once the chocolate is more or less liquefied (with the amaretto, it will tend to glaze over) stir in the cream. Keep stirring until you have a thick but uniformly syrupy consistency. Keep it over a low simmer while you prepare the egg whites.
Preheat the oven to 350F.
Add the cream of tartar to the egg whites and beat them until they're stiff.
Pour the chocolate mixture into the egg yokes and, with a fork, beat the mixture to a uniform consistency and color. Fold in the egg whites approximately a third at a time. The trick here, as with any recipe that calls for folding, is to avoid crushing all the air out of the whites while mixing the concoction as thoroughly as possible.
Decision point: one aspect of chocolate soufflés that I find truly astonishing is that the recipe is identical to my recipe for mousse. If you'd prefer chocolate mousse, turn off the oven, put the concoction in the fridge for about an hour to let it thicken slightly, and then take it out and fold it thoroughly, again, to even out the consistency (it will be thinner at the center). Pour the chocolate mousse mixture into separate goblets. Put the goblets in the refrigerator and allow them to chill for another two or three hours.
Meanwhile, back at the soufflé
Once the oven is ready, remove the ramekins from the fridge, arrange them evenly on a cookie sheet, and fill each with a portion of the soufflé mixture. Put the cookie sheet on a rack above the center of the oven and let them bake for about 16 minutes. At this time, the soufflés will have risen a good inch or more above the rim of the ramekins.
Sweet soufflés collapse faster than savory soufflés, so you'll want to serve these immediately. I place each individual ramekin inside another bowl so the kids won't burn their fingers.
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