How to Make a Souffle in Zero Grav

This story goes beyond flash today. I couldn't give an intergalactic cooking class full justice without adding more detail. Well, I could, but where's the fun in that? I hope you enjoy. :) --Elm

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked, letting my sister into Teddy's bedroom first, since she was hefting the toaster oven.

She paused to hitch it up with her knee, and gazed at me levelly. "Where else are we going to learn how to make a souffle for Dad? He oversees the entire earth. I had to find something outside of his jurisdiction or kxxx, no surprise."

"Dad doesn't know anything about chemical reactions," I argued. "Cooking isn't classified as magic at all."

"Steph," she rolled her eyes. "If souffles aren't magical, then I don't know what are. Now, be grateful I filched some of Ted's IGCs and paid for both of us."

Teddy's Intergalactic Currency was stashed in the safe in his closet, but he wasn't very careful about keeping it closed when distractions like "Tucker just exploded your shaving cream in the bathroom" were shouted above the jargle coming from his mp3 player. Baby Tucker was gifted like Dad; Teddy, Stace and I were just gifted with survival smarts.

"But the toaster oven?"

Stace smiled grimly. "I want to be able to make my souffles at home as well as in a space station. It may not be as nice as their technology, but it's the only tool I have that Teddy hasn't stunk up with his Stinky-richies."

Cerrichis were Teddy's new find. He imported them from some satellite off the Andromeda galaxy... Cetus Dwarf, I think. They smelled like roasted goat hoof and looked like seaweed. Not really my thing, either.

"Can you get the Gate for me?" she asked. "This thing is heavy."

I hung a Com unit on her ear and one on mine, and then unlocked the Interdimensional Gate using the passcode that was scrawled on a little piece of paper also inside the safe. Then I entered in our destination code as Stacy rattled it off to me. The wall on the other side of the bed began to wriggle and then boil as the molecules sped into their vacuum. It always amazed me that the paint and sheetrock didn't crumble when it all slowed back to normal. A strong gravity threatened to pull the bed in, and I was glad that Ted had let me clean his room for him in light of Tucker's distraction--a sweet, sisterly, and completely loaded offer. No way did I need his smelly t-shirts coming through the Gate with us.

"You have the ingredients?"

I lifted the Target bag and wrapped the cord to the toaster oven around my wrist to make sure it didn't remain in the bedroom when the gate closed behind us, and allowed the vacuum to pull me in.

For a second, it felt like my cheeks and clothing and all the skin under my clothing were sucked off of my body, and then my insides began to tingle, rearranging themselves like the wall had. I stumbled on the other side, hoping that my molecules had arranged themselves back in the right places, and was glad I'd foregone breakfast.

"We'll have to take the transport," Stace said, blowing her hair off her face. "The classroom is about three miles down from here." She smiled. "Sure is easier to carry this thing in low grav. We should file for this at home. Dad could pull it off."

I snorted. "He likes things to be stable, remember? Bouncing toaster ovens are not stable."

"I'm just saying."

We bounced ourselves and our belongings through the crowd to the nearby elevator and squished in with some other passengers. Squished was literal--a whole family of balyoonis (who as far as I could tell were one giant lung) shoved in with us, and the younger ones couldn't hold their breath long enough to keep their middles in the whole way down. I tried not to stare and was glad that skin contact was not on the list of "aggressive behaviors that will cost you your life". I didn't smile reassuringly at the kids, either, since that was on the list.

I clutched the bag of ingredients as I followed Stace to the classroom, set it down briefly as I clamped on my harness in the ante-chamber, then wrapped myself around it tighter as the ingredients threatened to float out of the bag's opening inside our giant cube of a classroom. The classroom itself was zero grav to allow for some of the more delicate life forms to participate... or maybe it was because that was standard for many of them already. As my lemon floated off into the air, I snatched at it and shoved the entire bag into a cupboard on the wall.

"Oh shoot," Stacy said, placing the toaster oven on a work surface. The tables were anchored with lines to hooks in the vaulted ceiling and floor. "Can you go find a converter for me?"

I clipped my harness to the bar traversing the perimeter of the room (not unlike a ballet bar), and clung to it, squinting at the signs posted beside each cupboard. I scanned down at least thirty different scripts before finding one I recognized--in Chinese. Thankfully for my beginner Chinese skills, beneath it was a word in English. WHISKS. I sighed and pulled myself along the bar, bowing excuse me's (another non-aggressive motion) to the individuals whose stations I tried not to bump into.

All the cords made it hard not to trip, especially on the plastic-looking bubbles many of my classmates had attached to belts that clipped to their harnesses so they floated within reach. They looked like they were filled with flour or sugar or cocoa... I mean, this was an intergalactic cooking class for souffles, there had to be certain ingredients that all lifeforms used, didn't there?

Finally, near the portable power tools, I found the cupboard labeled CONVERTERS, and I rifled through the collection until I found one resembling our American plug. Why there needed to be so many shapes and sizes for plugs (including one the size of a football), I couldn't guess.

I turned around and gulped as a huge watery-looking fellow gurgled, and my translator flicked on. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked me, and I nodded, holding up the converter. "Very good. Please make your way to your station, we are beginning the class."

Maybe that's why there were plugs as big as footballs. His hands were my body-size alone.

On the way back, I raided the cupboard labeled CONTAINERS and grabbed a set of those bubble things for us. I also asked my Com what in the universe the teacher's species was. Wallerum. Mostly water, can stretch and cohese at will.

The Wallerum began to speak.

"Welcome to Soufflendous Souffles," he said. Stace rolled her eyes as strange noises came from around the room. Funny in other languages? "I am Teacher," he said, and I tapped my Com. Teacher Teacher.

"First, you will preheat your oven to 190 degrees Celsius," Teacher gurgled.

Stace fiddled with the dial on the toaster oven, while I moved the eggs from their carton into a bubble container. They floated like little versions of another of my classmates two stations over, and I nervously clipped the container onto the ring closest to my body on the belt, just in case he? she? it? glanced over and freaked out.

"Next, grease your baking bubble with butter."

I glanced at Stace, who looked doubtfully at the souffle pan she'd tucked into the toaster oven and opened her mouth, no doubt to ask me to find her a "baking bubble." I quickly took the powdered sugar and crammed its end into another plastic container, and then squeezed. Instead of forcing the powdered sugar inside, the end came out, and powdered sugar exploded into a thick white cloud around me.

I coughed and waved at the powder. Then something sucked at my clothes. The tension released and I blinked to see that the powder was gone. Teacher drew back, looking suspiciously white... and pink. "Please forgive me," he said. "I was nervous that the cloud would set off an alarm."

"Um, no problem?" I said, and bowed. I couldn't tell for sure, but I think he looked relieved. He turned back to his pre-cloud color and returned to the center of the classroom.

What had he done, licked me? I tapped my Com and asked it what had just happened. Swallowing, or cleansing, is thought to be a sign of affection. Ew. No wonder he turned pink. I shook it off and was glad I'd brought an extra bag of confectioner's sugar. I decided to leave it in the bag--a pretty good bubble itself. Stace made it back and I ignored her questioning look.

Teacher announced, "Place your chocolate inside a warming sphere. Then place the sphere into a boiling chamber. Bring the water inside the chamber to a bubble and allow the chocolate to melt."

He hung close to our table (yeah, like we needed help), and after watching us fumble for a while, offered to fetch us the extra baking tools we needed. I blushed, thinking of his... lick? and nodded, and he returned a few moments later with a couple of glass spheres and spatulas in our size, cradled in his enormous, flowy palm. He hovered close, watching but not commenting on Stace's and my attempts to insert the chocolate into the warming sphere. We got the chocolate in, and we even got the little bubble into the big bubble, but we lost it at turning it on.

"Um," I said finally, and he reached over a hand to carefully tweak the control on the boiling chamber. Instead of lots of small bubbles, one large bubble erupted around the warming sphere, true to zero grav, and gradually, melted chocolate began to coat the sides of the glass.

I bowed and turned to Stace. "Okay," I said. "I think we're getting this."

"Maybe." She sounded sullen.

Teacher continued, his gurgle musical in the background as my Com spoke into my ear. "As the chocolate melts, place eight egg whites into a second warming sphere, add one-quarter cup of white sugar, two teaspoons of lemon juice, and mix."

"Eggs. You brought whole eggs. They were supposed to be egg whites," Stace said as I unhooked the bubble.

"All the containers smelled like goat hooves," I said. "I figured we could crack them here. You didn't tell me there'd be no gravity."

"Sure, blame it on the gravity."

"Do you need help?" Teacher asked, and I looked nervously up at him, wondering if he was offering another lick. Oh yeah, the eggs.

I handed over the bubble and with a glance at the neighboring classmate two stations down, he turned and extracted the eggs from the bubble. His hand kind of melted around them, all fluidy-like, and inside it, the shells cracked, the yolks separated from the whites, and the whites themselves coagulated into a ball. He took the second warming sphere and deposited them inside.

I snapped my jaw closed. "Wow," I said. "You have skills."

The teacher turned that suspicious shade of pink and backed away. "Happy to help," he said.

"You don't think he's just showing off for you, do you?" Stacy grinned at me.

"Even if he was, there's a reason he's the teacher."

I turned back to bow at him but he'd hustled off to help another, rather pickly-looking classmate.

She harrumphed and I shook my brain back into gear. "I think you have to measure the sugar in a measuring sphere while it's inside the bubble," I said, as Stacy sorted through our measuring cups.

She slammed the cupboard door. "Fine, you do it, then. I don't know how I'm ever going to repeat this at home."

"They're just different tools."

"I told you the toaster oven was all I knew how to use."

"That's next."

I was getting the hang of it by now. I inserted my hand and a knife into the bubble and poked a hole in the lemon, then squeezed it. Juice floated in beads around the outer shell and I gathered them up in a large, glass pipette. I squirted the fluid in with the eggs and sugar, and then shook the sphere as hard as I could. It all kind of lazily mixed into clumps, and I frowned. I grabbed a whisk from the WHISK cupboard and shoved it into the sphere. It kind of worked.

"You're ahead of me," Teacher said, and I jumped. He was so... impressive. "Very good. Now insert the warming sphere into the boiling chamber, and as the water comes to a boil, continue to whisk the mixture. When it's warm, fold in the chocolate with the spatula."

"Whisk 'til warm, then fold," I repeated, and he made a funny noise that my Com translated as happy, or, noise of approval.

I whisked while Stace watched with a dazed look on her face, and not long after, I sucked up the melted chocolate with another pipette and squirted it into the eggs. I poked in the spatula and waved it around in what I hoped was a folding motion. How you "folded" in zero grav was beyond me.

"When the ingredients are combined, take the warming sphere from the boiling chamber and place it into the oven. Bake at the preset 190 degrees Celsius for approximately 20 minutes or until brown."

"Brown?" Stacy said. "It's already brown."

"Darker brown, a bit," I said.

"Oh sure, that makes sense."

"This is your part. The toaster oven, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." She perked up and removed the little sphere from the big sphere. She opened the oven and shoved it at the opening, but it caught at the door.

As I considered how to break it smoothly that the toaster oven wouldn't work, she scowled, then broke into a smile. "I have an idea." She took out the Earthy souffle pan.

"You can't seal it," I said.

"You brought foil, remember?" She opened our cupboard and took it out. "This'll work."

"It won't," I argued.

"It will," she promised, and crimped the foil all around the edge of the pan.

"Why can't we just use one of their ovens?" I half-asked, half-whined.

"I told you why," she said. She took the pipette and gathered up the batter, then squirted it into the opening in the pan. It worked, mostly. A few droplets escaped, which she caught on her tongue.

I rolled my eyes nervously.

"Teacher did it, why can't I?" she said, and I blushed.

She slid the souffle into the toaster oven and set the timer. I started to clean up, and a little while later, Teacher came over again, making another happy, or, noise of approval.

"How is it cooking?" he asked.

Stace peered at the oven. "It's too dirty to tell."

I yelled as she pulled open the door.

The souffle exploded.

Threads of chocolate burst through the air and spread from the oven door in a great, pressing growth. I blinked because it looked so blurry, and then I realized I was watching the souffle explode from inside Teacher. So was Stace.

Awkward. But somehow, it didn't matter.

Then we were on his opposite side and I ran a hand through my hair. It felt dry. I watched as Teacher spread his body in a great stretch to grab at the flying souffle. Seriously impressive.

"There really is a reason you're the teacher," I bowed as Teacher pulled himself back together. "You're not burned, are you?" I asked him.

Teacher turned pink again. I really had to check what pink meant for a Wallerum. "Only a little," he gurgled.

I watched, fascinated, as all the little bits of chocolate inside him gathered into a collection and surfaced inside his palm.

"Do you want these?" he asked, and I reached out and grabbed one, and put it in my mouth. I felt my mouth muscles spread in a helpless smile of ecstacy.

"No!" Stacy yelled.

I put my arm around her. "Stace, they're not ruined."

"Hang on," I told Teacher, who was turning away with our dessert. He'd turned a sorry shade of gray.

"He just regurgitated it," she wailed. "He regurgitated us!"

"I think it's different for him. Seriously, Stace, please?"

She looked at me and blinked. I know, when was the last time I said please? Finally, she took the thread of chocolate from my fingers and stuck it hesitantly between her lips.

Her eyes went wide. "Wait," she said as Teacher placed them into the cupboard labeled COMPRESSOR. "I want those back!"

His eyes turned around and the chocolate floated through to his other side.

I bit delicately on another flaky wafer. "We'll just have to make Dad another souffle. When's the next class?"