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What's your favourite sort of soufflé, and do they deserve their reputation as difficult and delicate? Soufflés are God's gift to the dinner party cook. Somehow, this classic egg dish has acquired a fiendish reputation for failure that quite belies its simplicity, which means that anyone who manages to serve anything more voluminous than a water biscuit will be feted as the greatest chef since – well, that one who won the latest series of MasterChef. Even the name is in on the joke: far from the whispered breath of the word, soufflé is actually both tough and dependable. Hardly romantic, but a useful recipe to have in one's armoury nevertheless. To master the soufflé, you must first understand it. As ever, Harold McGee is good on this point, writing in On Food and Cooking that, "if you manage to get any air into the mix, an inexorable law of nature will raise it in the oven". This is because, as he goes on to explain, "all else being equal, the volume occupied by a given weight of gas is proportional to its temperature" – so, as the air in the soufflé mixture heats up in the oven, it expands, and thus the mix swells in the only way open to it: upwards. Interestingly, although this is a useful principle to have under your belt, McGee notes that it is actually only responsible for about a quarter of the soufflé's rise; the rest comes from the evaporation of water from the walls of the air bubbles into the bubbles themselves, adding to the interior pressure, and causing them to expand yet further. The beauty of the dish, apart from its potential for impressing dates and potential mothers-in-law (although probably not at the same table) is that it's almost infinitely adaptable. There are the sexy chocolate numbers that signal a passion yet more ardent than the classic Valentine's fondant, and the violent green herb-flecked ones (Valentine Warner has a nice looking watercress and gruyère number in his new book), the boozy or iced versions so beloved of provincial French restaurants, and the downright weird, like this white chocolate and caviar creation. The base of each, although different, serves two principal purposes: one, to give the dish flavour (whipped egg whites provide the volume – and there's a reason why only mad people and athletes eat them on their own), and secondly to provide starch to strengthen the bubble walls, and moisture to help it rise (as above). They vary from fruit or vegetable purées and crème patissieres to the bechamel sauce which I'll be using for my favourite kind of soufflé – the cheese version. It's a classic for a reason. BasicHowever well you understand the science, soufflés are the kind of dish that you want a reliable guide for, so my basic recipe comes from Leiths Cookery School, who must have taught thousands of chalet girls the ins and outs of the dish over the years. I make a bechamel with butter, flour and milk, and, once it has thickened, stir in egg yolks, cheese and seasoning (the mixture should be slightly over-seasoned, to compensate for the lack of flavour in the egg whites). I then whisk the egg whites until just stiff, and gently fold them into the mixture, then divide it between ramekins and bake. The first soufflé after a period of abstention is always nerve-racking, and I hover by the oven anxiously, wishing I'd cleaned the glass more recently. Thank goodness they rise nicely, although they're a little blandly polite for my taste – more cheese needed. PoshLe Gavroche is famous for its soufflé suissesse, which is a gussied-up version of the ordinary cheese variety, removed from the oven partway through baking, transferred to a gratin dish full of double cream, topped with grated cheese and then put back to gratinate. Although a critical observer suggested my version didn't look quite like the one they'd been served at that august establishment ("one of the best things I have ever eaten"), it still tasted pretty good – for the first few mouthfuls. Then I started to feel a bit sick. Pump up the volumeNo soufflé maker can dig into the fruits of their labours without a critical assessment of the height achieved – that extra centimetre is always elusive. The Ballymaloe Cookery School suggests adding an extra couple of beaten egg whites to the mixture to lighten it, which certainly gets results, but also dilutes the rich flavour I'm after. It's a good tip if you simply want to impress with the eye alone, but for more discriminating diners, I wouldn't bother. Harold McGee takes issue with the idea that you should fold the egg whites into the mixture as quickly as possible, pointing out that, the slower the action, the less damage you'll do to the foam. Which, according to my observations, seems to be true. Coating the mouldSoufflé moulds should be generously coated with butter, to stop the mixture sticking to the base and burning, but some authorities, including delicious. magazine, suggest lining them with breadcrumbs as well, which is thought to encourage the mixture to rise by giving it something to cling on to on the slippery walls of the ramekin. McGee dismisses this idea: "soufflés made in unbuttered or uncrumbed dishes rise just as high. The butter simply makes the soufflé surface easier to detach from the dish, and sugar, breadcrumbs, and cheese make a nice crunchy, brown crust for the otherwise soft interior". He's right; I can't detect any significant difference in height between the soufflés made in lined and unlined dishes, but I do like the crisp crumbs that line the edge of the Leiths soufflés. Bain marieLarousse Gastronomique suggests standing the dishes in a bath of warm water for a few minutes before putting them in the oven, presumably to bring the temperature up more gradually, but I can't detect a difference once baked. However, baking them in a bain marie, as suggested online, does seem to give a more delicately quivering end result. Pre-chillingTristan Welch of Launceston Place chills his soufflé mixture before adding the egg whites, perhaps to stop the centre overcooking in the time it takes the dish to rise (many a proud-looking soufflé of my experience has turned out to be dry and chewy upon excavation). Although practical for making ahead, I don't think it's actually necessary – his soufflés seem no creamier than any of the others I make, although they're very slightly squatter, something I put down to the oven temperature. Oven temperatureUnusually, Tristan bakes his soufflés at 160C – also, presumably, to prevent them drying out. This interests me, given McGee's assertion that "a soufflé's appearance and consistency are strongly affected by the oven temperature". At such a low heat, he suggests, the rise is less marked, and the browning of the top may take so long that it's accompanied by a firming of the interior. At the other end of the temperature scale, Xanthe Clay in the Telegraph bakes hers at 220C, but according to my scientific guru, the higher the temperature, the more spectacular the eventual fall of your oh-so impressive starter. I also find the top rather too crisp and tough at this temperature, so I eventually return to the trusty Leiths recipe, which hedges its bets at 200C. Flavourings and cosmetic adjustmentsBallymaloe suggest coating the mould with grated parmesan, but I prefer the crunch of breadcrumbs – however, working on the principal that one can never have too much cheese, I give the thumbs up to Margaret Costa's Four Seasons Cookery Book suggestion of keeping some cheese back to fold into the mix at the last minute. As she says, digging in and finding a well of oozy gruyère is a real treat. Seasoning-wise, I've seen everything from nutmeg to Tabasco sauce added to a cheese soufflé, but I prefer to let the cheese be the star here: just a pinch of English mustard powder for a savoury, but discreet hint of spice – after all, if it works for cheese on toast ... Many recipes call for you to run your finger around the inside rim of the dish to create a groove, which gives the soufflés a more restaurant-like 'top hat' look; you can, but I prefer the slightly mad exploding cauliflower sort myself. They're just more characterful, somehow, and the texture of the top is more varied, and thus interesting. Perfect cheese souffléAlthough soufflés are so easy that they shouldn't be confined to entertaining, they are undoubtedly the lazy's cook's best friend in that department. Rich yet simple, light yet undeniably decadent-tasting, they always please – even when they fail. Makes 6–8 individual soufflés, depending on the size of your ramekins 40g butter, plus extra for greasing
40g plain flour
300ml whole milk
20g white breadcrumbs
4 large free-range eggs
½ tsp English mustard powder
100g gruyère, finely grated
50g parmesan, finely grated 1. Pre-heat the oven to 200C and put the kettle on. Melt the butter in a pan, and stir in the flour. Cook, stirring, for a couple of minutes, then whisk in the milk until smooth. Heat gently until it comes to the boil, then simmer for 5 minutes, stirring, until thickened, but still pourable, then transfer to a large bowl and set aside to cool slightly. 2. Meanwhile, brush 6 small ovenproof dishes with melted butter, and coat with breadcrumbs. Separate the eggs, and put the whites in a large clean bowl. Half fill a roasting tin with boiling water and put it in the oven. 3. Stir the mustard powder, 75g gruyère and all the parmesan into the sauce and, when smooth, add the egg yolks, one by one. Finally, add the rest of the cheese. 4. Whisk the egg whites with a pinch of salt until stiff, but not dry or grainy, then stir a couple of spoonfuls into the mixture to loosen it. Very slowly and gently fold in the remainder with a spatula. Divide the mixture between the ramekins, being careful not to fill them all the way to the top. 5. Put them in the bain marie and bake for about 12 minutes, until well risen and golden, then serve immediately. What's your favourite sort of soufflé, and do you think they deserve their delicate image – or do you happily slam oven doors and dance around the kitchen without fear of disaster? Are there any other dishes with an unfair reputation for difficulty – or vice versa (the omelette springs to mind)? Felicity Cloake
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