My first school in London was called St. Helen's School for Girls. It was a Catholic school, where we learned things like how to hold a knife and fork properly, and how to eat like civilised human beings. Our lunches were different every day of the week, and we'd all walk to the cafeteria together, holding hands, and sit at long tables, where we'd be served, and expected to finish everything on our plates.
Which was great on mashed potato day. And awful on chicken-pineapple casserole day. In fact, that I still despise cooked pineapple to this day is entirely the fault of the St. Helens' cafeteria staff, and the torture of being forced to finish every single bite on the plate. It wasn't till years later that I realised I could throw things under the table, and that was long after the St. Helen's days, and when I was sitting at a restaurant in the hills of southern Spain with my dad who was in a bad mood and insisting that I finish the quail on the plate in front of me. But, as a 6-year old, I was relatively free of these kind of clever things, and so I ploughed though, week after week. The worst part about those pineapple casserole days was the dessert. Bread and butter pudding, or bread pudding as it's called in the States, was the bane of my existence. That smell of curdled eggs, the little wrinkled raisins, the thick slices of crap white bread. It made my stomach turn. It STILL makes my stomach turn.
And so imagine my surprise last night when I got back from a long sunset hike, and the thought crossed my mind that "I want bread pudding". Where this came from, I have no idea. I hate bread pudding. I've been given the 'best bread pudding in the world' and refused to try it because the trauma runs so deep. But last night I wanted it, and I'm not one to ever ignore these urges.
This is a bare-bones pudding. I hate raisins in anything except fudge and christmas pud and Cadbury's chocolate, so there are none. I also hate cinnamon in anything other than coffee. I mean, really hate it. Cinnamon has no place in desserts as far as I'm concerned, and I haven't eaten an apple pie that I liked since moving to the states, except for the ones at French restaurants that are tarts, with no cinnamon. So there's no cinnamon. No cardamom. No raisins. It's basically bread and custard, which are two of my favourite things in the world, so it's pretty hard to go wrong.
Bread is important- I use this soft fluffy sourdough that's the only glutinous thing I can safely eat. If you have challah lying around, or a brioche, then I can't believe you haven't eaten it all yet and I'm slightly disappointed in you. But you can use those, they'll probably be even better.
Oh, and one more thing. Start to munchum, the entire process took 35 minutes. 5 minutes of which is prep, 30 of which is sitting around, playing on twitter, and running back and forth to the oven to check to see if it's ready. Or, you can throw it all in a bowl and put it in the fridge overnight, then bake them up in the morning for breakfast...
The proof is in the [Bread] Pudding
4 ramekins or wee mason jars
3 thick slices of bread
1 cup milk
1 cup cream
3 tb butter, melted
5 tb sugar
1 tsp vanilla
Preheat oven to 350.
Combine all the ingredients together in a bowl. Cut the bread up into 1" chunks and drop in the bowl of liquid stuffs. At this point you can refrigerate overnight, or just leave to soak for a few minutes. Spoon an equal amount of the mixture into the ramekins, and pour the remaining liquid equally over each one.
Cook for 25-30 minutes, until when pressed gently on top, no liquid comes out to burn your fingers. Serve with cream.