The Doctor looked at the centre console. Bright lights flashed and the pipe in the middle hummed soothingly. Straightening his bow tie, he walked around to the staircase leading to the bottom floor of the control room. As he stepped onto the first stair, he was jolted back by the overwhelming scent of burnt chocolate.
"I see," he said to himself. "Perhaps the next souffle will go better." The Doctor took the collapsed bowl of brown mush out of the oven. He dipped a finger in the batter and stuck it in his mouth then proceeded to spit it back into the bowl.
From her room adjacent to the control room, Clara shouted, "Is everything alright in there, Doctor? I smell something ghastly,"
"No, no, don't worry Clara, everything's fine…" He replied, setting the souffle down on the counter and turned away.
Gathering more ingredients, he set to work on another souffle. This one was to result in several different small individual servings each to be set out in cup-sized ramekins. The Doctor opened all the ingredients and poured them into a large mixing bowl. Puffs of flour filled his face and a bit of egg white dripped on the floor.
When all the ingredients were joined, the Doctor picked up the mixing bowl and walked back to the main floor of the control room. Walking up the stairs, his foot snagged on the top step and the bowl of ingredients went flying. They landed in the centre of the control panel, face down and oozing mud-brown batter down the sides. Clara came running in.
"Blimey. Not the ketchup," the Doctor whined as Clara stood in the doorway speechless. He collected himself and walked over to survey the damage. "Clara it landed on my ketchup dispenser," he pointed helplessly to the overturned bowl of mush.
Clara shook her head as if it would enable her to gain a better understanding of the situation at hand. "Doctor, what the hell were you doing?"
He looked down sheepishly. "I was making a souffle. That's actually my fourth one." He started fiddling with his bow tie. She laughed loudly.
"Doctor, what have I told you about cooking?" Clara could barely make out the sentence through her fits of hysteria.
The Doctor could feel a blush rising to his cheeks. "You told me to stay on one floor when I cook. Or to not cook at all," he said sadly. "Because otherwise I get food on my TARDIS."
"That's right," Clara said decisively. "Now lets get her cleaned up so that we can make an actual souffle this time." She walked past the Doctor, running her arm across his shoulder as she grabbed a towel and began scrubbing the console.