baking

I was in the company of an old friend: a monk that I knew and loved well. We were catching up with one another and some other people that I held dear. It was time to eat and I went to fetch something satisfying in a nearby kitchen. In the kitchen, a woman was cooking a strange recipe. She had beaten hundreds of egg whites and set them aside whilst she arranged a dozen or so people in an enormous baking tray. She poured a sweet mixture into the tray which submerged the people up to their necks. She then laid the egg whites on top, smoothing them out with a huge spatula, so that just their heads were poking out. Finally, she spooned the egg white mixture on top of each of their heads before putting them in the oven. I was horrified to think that the people might be cooked, but she, and all of the people in the oven, seemed to think that they would just be a little warm, not baked. I was not convinced and waited with great agitation. As I waited, I imagined them roasted, dead, and had to clear my head of the image. When they were done, sure enough, the people were fine, but the mixture seemed, to me, undercooked. I served some up in bowls for my friends and took it back to them. They tried it and liked it but I was still not convinced. I found it way too runny and still felt skeptical about the method of cooking.