Lemon Soufflé Pudding

Light and hope

“When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” — Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

We’re having our first sunny day here in months. It seems to have lifted everyone’s mood; people are smiling, walking with a bounce in their step, taking their time as they move from one place to another, sharing a more-than-usually cheerful “bonjour” when they step into a shop. No longer hunched against the wind and that sideways, needle-fine rain biting into their faces, no longer bundled tight against the cold, scurrying to get to their destination as quickly as possible. Skies that seemed permanently gray are suddenly a bright, pale blue. Spring has arrived in Chinon, France.

My pharmacist commented that people suddenly seem happier. I pointed out — wondering myself — whether, if the weather hadn’t been so utterly morose, so dark and rainy for so many months, a sunny day would have had the same effect. Maybe it’s the contrast. Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s simply that we’d forgotten what warmth and light feel like, so it feels rather miraculous.

It feels like hope.

We’re in a flood zone. The River Vienne has been alarmingly high, even higher than when this happened two years ago. We’ve been lucky; the flooding has stayed on the other side of the bridge that spans the narrow Vienne. But some of our fellow townspeople haven’t been so lucky and now find their feet in the water, their basements and ground floors, as well.

I can’t but help think these are metaphors for what we are living through, wherever we are. Dismal, ominous dark days, storm clouds, and flood zones could easily describe the politics, the wars, the division and violence that surround us. But here, at least, this sudden turn — the surprising arrival of beautiful weather, soft blue skies, and sunlight — feels like a metaphor, too. A reminder that seasons change. That water recedes. That light and warmth return.

We feel like things are shifting. Favorability ratings are tilting downward, those relentless barometers of public mood indicating a widening impatience and spreading discontent or outright anger. Americans are banding together to protect neighbors, and they are making themselves heard, not only across the country and ringing through the halls of Washington, but around the world, as well.

I like to think that this sudden light means something. And the warmth feels like the beginning of a turn.

There’s always hope.

For my recipe this week, I wanted something that carried that same brightness, that tasted like light, something fresh and clean. Lemon cuts through heaviness. It wakes up the palate, its sharpness tempered with sweetness. A lemon soufflé pudding felt right, almost a metaphor for rising hope and light.

Jamie Schler is an American food and culture writer — immersed in French culinary history — living in France where she owns a hotel, makes jam, and writes the Substack Life’s a Feast.

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