Soufflé

I checked Facebook when I woke up and noted someone had asked a Maputo residents group where it was possible to find soufflé.

Today is my final day working for an organisation I started with in July 2008 at the tender age of 25. I realised a soufflé in the oven is an apt analogy for the experience. For most of this time it was a period of exciting, rich growth, bubbling over with experiences (cheese). Then it collapsed suddenly and staying was no longer tenable (edible). I’m interested to know what it’s like baking a soufflé elsewhere; one that won’t collapse at the end.

Today was certainly a flail to the finish, which felt relatively complete and satisfying by evening. I stuck on an out-of-office message for the last time, in which we are expressly forbidden from putting on forwarding details. Never a fan of controlling rules that don’t serve a logical purpose, I ignored them, because I think the important point is to not to lose contact with people who I’ve interacted with for many years and who might only know me through my work email.

I never saw whether anyone clarified soufflé availability in Maputo, but I suspect not. At lunchtime I grabbed one of Maputo’s more commonly found baked goods, the Portuguese custard tart. When the cinnamon shaker is provided to give a light dusting, it’s a place that takes its tarts seriously.