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Edited on Wed Jun-10-09 11:08 PM by nuxvomica
He had seen it on the menu and was intrigued. Among the list of hot turkey sandwiches, reubens, farmer's omelets, spanokopita, and all the sundry delicacies normally found in a New England diner, there it sat like a diamond in the rough, the one entree printed in italics: la soufflé du prières répondues. The diner's cook Max never really liked making the dish. It had to be prepared from the freshest ingredients, unlike the canned gravies and sauces he was used to, and not slapped together, like the pre-portioned wads of turkey loaf or corned beef that comprised his bestselling fare, but instead the souffle was fashioned in precise steps, the first few involving the most careful measuring of separated eggs, cream, finely sifted flour and rare, expensive spices. Fire and ice met in the painstaking and studiously observed folding of perfectly blanched spinach, a sauce made from seven different mould-covered cheeses and a chilly, delicate egg-white froth. Max cleared the kitchen of busboys and dishwashers to perform the last step, in which four perfectly poached eggs are sepulchred in the mixture and the entire culinary masterwork is offered to the hot, dusky maw of the Dew Drop Inn's oven.
During the war Max had stormed the beach at Normandy, was separated from his unit and found sanctuary in a ruined church near a tiny, lifeless village, evacuated just before the assault. Mortar volleys landed all around him and he had made his way to the church's basement were the village's single remaining citizen, a tiny elderly woman named Sabine clutched a large wooden rosary. No sooner had the two found themselves thrown together in the damp cellar when an explosion rocked the church and debris blocked their only exit. It would be three days before they would be found.
"Is there anything to eat here?" Max had asked Sabine the first day and again the next day and she shook her head with eyes closed in response. She could understand English and speak a little, so the two could offer each other company but little more.
"Hey, I think I might have a candy bar." Max exclaimed, feeling stupid for not having thought of it till now. He rummaged through his pack and produced a Hershey's chocolate bar with one or two squares gone. He divied up the remaining squares and gave half to Sabine.
"But, Monsieur, you are too generous!" she cried as the creamy chocolate tiles fell into her bony hands.
"Naw," said Max, "I ain't gonna stiff no nice French lady," and he smiled like the two were in on a joke but, of course, there was none.
"Zen I must tell you mon secret. Zat is what I will pay you for le chocolat, no?"
"Alright, dear," he said. "Tell me your secret and that'll pay for the chocolate." He was smiling. He already figured they were probably going to die here but this would pass the time.
"I was ze cook for many years to ze archbishop. He is a very demanding man, a gourmand. He imagine zese many dishes which he thinks would be difficultment. He imagine one zat take me many months to think of. But I devise it and I have made it ze secret of my life, how it is prepared. It is done in zis way..."
By the third day, neither was talking much. Max's canteen had long ago gone dry and Sabine was failing. He whispered to her not to talk but she insisted, "I have not long, Max. I am old and my secret is in your care now. Whenever you prepare la soufflé du prières répondues I will be with you. It is not easy to make but I ask zat you prepare it, pour moi, bon ami, por m....."
"But I can't cook!"
"...zen....you....must...learn....!" And she died.
"A penny!" Max Kuwolski had never been so pissed off. "He leaves a penny?"
"I swear, Max, I served him just fine." said Lenore, "I'm shocked as you are." He pushed her aside and grabbed the plate from the counter. He stared at the remains of Jackass's meal and then started to poke it with a fork. His expression changed from fear to sadness and he slumped down on a counter stool and buried his head in his hand.
La soufflé du prières répondues has one striking feature: It appears to be an ordinary -- and extremely delicious -- spinach souffle. However, the first poke of a fork anywhere on its thin surface will cause it to ooze the golden undercooked yoke of one of the four poached eggs within. But the souffle Max had made for Jerry Jackass was a failure. One of the yokes, apparently, had cooked all the way through. Jerry had raised his fork and poked at the first egg, pulling out small bits of egg-white as the warm golden, viscous liquid welled up and out of the souffle and spread languidly across it's stiff surface. He poked some more and with unexpectedly sadistic delight mashed the egg to pieces. He had done the same with two more but the last was too hard and no runny yoke appeared. This disappointed Jerry and he felt it justified a stingingly reproachful amount for the tip.
Max wallowed in his melancholy as he sat on the counter stool, idly poking at the egg remnants with his fork. It had reminded him of Sabine, though, and like she had said, she would be with him whenever he prepared la soufflé du prières répondues. He even thought he heard her voice for a little bit: "Zat was a fine souffle, bon ami, and a very bad tip. I will avenge you, bon ami, and in an ironic fashion, no?" He shook his head and the voice stopped. He picked up the penny and was about to put it in the tip jar when he notice something odd about it.
Jerry Jackass, his overly made-up wife, Jerri, and their pudgy, over-indulged 10-year-old son, Josh, were complaining of the cold and the poor service at "C H I L L", a trendy, overpriced Boston eatery that pretended to be in the arctic by maintaining sub-zero temperatures requiring patrons to wear heavy winter coats when they dined there, even in the middle of July. The whole Jackass family sat in expensively manufactured ice chairs at ice tables sipping their diet sodas from ice tumblers which they held in shaking, gloved hands.
At first Jerry and Jerri had thought the igloos and caged polar bears would be educational for Josh and a "cool" thing to tell his friends about in school, which he'd have more of if he weren't such a whiner and a bully. But the cold was getting to them, owing to the poor circulation engendered by numberless hours at the sectional watching reality television in their home theatre with it's 60-inch plasma screen and industrial cotton candy machine.
Josh started bellowing orders to his mother, demanding that they leave and go to Olive Garden where the chairs were always toasty warm and sometimes even a little soggy. The spectacle of their young scion screaming and stamping his feet engulfed their attention while their fellow diners and waitstaff were actually running past them in terror. Unknown to the Jackasses, the tantrum had disturbed a caged polar bear that had subsequently broken out and was lumbering angrily toward the dining area.
Once they'd gotten their wits about them, the Jackasses found themselves alone in the icy landscape of the restaurant with a loose and angry polar bear. Between them and the bear were four plastic igloos, their entrances facing the Jackasses. One contained sound equipment but the others appeared empty. Each of the three chose the nearest empty igloo and it wasn't too long before the raging polar bear towered over them, roaring and scratching the air with his steel-like claws, and sniffing for prey with his keen sense of smell.
The 1979 Mullet Lincoln Penny was minted by accident. Only five went into circulation. Four were already known to exist in various museums or large private collections. The fifth was missing until the day Max and Lenore of the Dew Drop Inn put it up for auction at Sotheby's, where it fetched an amazing $55,000,000 from a right-wing trust-fund billionaire. When all is said and done, not a bad tip for a short-order cook and a...
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