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I love bread pudding. In this world of low carb asceticism and virtue, that’s a politically incorrect statement. Might as well go out on a limb for lard or foie gras. But really, who doesn’t like something dense and moist with eggs and milk and butter folded around the burnish of cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla? Where you go from there is up to you. By the time you read this, Fat Tuesday will have come and gone, that glorious excuse for wretched excess. But the way I figure it, living so close to Louisiana and having been born somewhere in that state of excess and political incorrectness, I am entitled to celebrate Mardi Gras all month long. If I can’t go to the actual event—and I have never been—I might as well memorialize it lavishly. Hence, the bread pudding. Bread pudding is one of those things that, like much that falls into the category of excess, becomes more than the sum of its parts. Think about it. Really, it’s just a thrifty move on the part of an economically minded cook to use up the rest of the stale bread. Most households have eggs and milk lying around and a half-used bottle of cinnamon and nutmeg, the dregs of the last of the vanilla, which is selling like gold—or saffron-- these days. And that’s all it takes to embark on leaping off the New Year’s dieting wagon. That simple concoction of soaked bread becomes glorious in completion, a marriage of rustic elegance, an elopement of the forces of thrift and indulgence. Warm from the oven and soaked in a bath of rum spiked cream, it takes on a life of its own. January is long enough to think about being good. And sometime in February, for those so inclined, the specter of Lent looms like the preview of a late winter horror film. (I guess by the time you read this, you will be seated at the table with Lent, so save the recipe for the Easter celebration.) But somewhere in the midst or at the outside edges of these bouts of self-imposed discipline and religious observation, we must indulge. Hence, the bread pudding. I think the closest I’ve come to the Mardi Gras experience was serving soft mounds of my bread pudding at the Winter Jazz Festival at the Cypress Creek Café on the Wimberley Square. |
To the strains of Dixie Land Jazz or the Latin delirium of The Brew, I have dished up bread pudding doused in bananas foster sauce and breadpudding ribboned with the red and gold of cranberries and apricots. I have worn gloves doing it, the air has been so cold, shimmying up against the heaters between servings. Those nights, the warmth of the pudding seemed more necessity that excess. Those nights, it took a healthy rhythm and a good pudding to stay warm. This is the time of year when we all try to stay warm, so I’m going to share with you a recipe around which you can build a bout of decadence that will keep you warm at least until you’ve finished eating and, if you’re lucky, maybe longer. This is an essential bread pudding robbed from the cookbooks and secrets of some of Louisiana’s finest tastemakers. But from this base camp, I suggest you explore. I like to coarsely chop canned apricots and tuck their bright gold into the folds of bread and milk, braiding another ribbon of whole berry cranberry sauce through the gold. I also like to sauté sliced bananas in butter and brown sugar and rum and banana liqueur, maybe add a little cream to mellow out the edges and pour that whole beautiful mess over the bread pudding pillows. And there’s always the traditional—raisins, maybe plumped in rum, or dried cranberries swollen with orange juice—and spiced pecans. But what I really like is Betty Bonner’s Rum Sauce. (Actually, she says, you can use any kind of liquor—bourbon, brandy…I like rum. And she really likes it over apple pie.) Whatever you do, don’t look back. Bread pudding is not for the timid or the undecided. Forget your diet. Go for the glory. Enjoy! |
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Bread Pudding 3 large eggs 1 ¼ cups sugar 1 ½ tsp vanilla extract 2 tsp ground nutmeg 2 tsp ground cinnamon ¼ cup butter, melted 2 cups whole milk 5 cups stale French bread or brioche or challah, with crusts on (If you don’t have stale, use fresh) Put the bread cubes into a buttered casserole or loaf pan. Pour the egg mixture over and press bread down into the liquid so that it is soaked. Let it sit for about an hour—or longer, pressing the bread down every once in a while. Preheat the oven to 350 and bake about 1 hour. Pudding should puff up and begin to brown. Be careful not to let the top scorch. Whiskey (Rum) Sauce 1 stick butter 1 c half & half 1 c. sugar 2 T flour (or 1) 1/8 t. salt 1/8 T. nutmeg 1/3 c. golden rum Cook butter and dry ingredients 2 – 3 minutes. Add the cream. When it thickens add the rum and spices. Pour it over the bread pudding.
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