I said it last Father's Day. I said it again this Father's Day. Allow me to quote myself: "Kugel travels better than blintz souffle." Here's what happens. You make a nice kugel. You take it out of the oven. You kvell. "Boy, that kugel looks delish." You wrap it in foil. You leave. You could be headed over the hill. You could be headed to the moon. That kugel will still look great with or without the benefit of gravity. A blintz souffle? Not so much. A blintz souffle looks pretty for precisely two seconds. There's barely enough time to kvell before it deflates into an ordinary casserole. In those two seconds. something happens. Something I can't explain, but I think it's a gravitational pull toward shame. It's a Jewish dish, after all. The blintz souffle is sending you a message to stay humble. "What? You think you're so fancy with your souffle? Fine. We'll give you two seconds to feel good about yourself, and then, we'll take it away. Who's fancy now? Not you." So, why did I make it for Father's Day? Why didn't I make a kugel, the more attractive choice? Because my mother-in-law got there first. This year, she made the kugel. Two kugels at a Father's Day brunch seems a little redundant, not to mention, competitive. Good idea to compete with my mother-in-law? I'm going with no. So, I went with the sunken souffle. No one seemed to notice, until I pointed it out, repeatedly.
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