After making summer pudding the second time, I had about half a loaf of white bread, along with some crusts, left over. What better way to use leftover stale bread is there than to make bread pudding?
Bread pudding is kind of an odd concoction. Popular in the South, it’s stale bread pieces soaked in a liquid, usually with eggs, milk, sugar, and some spices. Who would’ve thought to take stale bread, chop it up, soak it in liquid, and then bake it? I can only imagine…
Man and woman, naked bodies intertwined. Billy Bob and Bertha were breathless from their romp in the hay. The old barn groaned with every strong gust of wind that blew past. Boards above their heads, bending at the wind’s will. The weather was on their side today. The groans from the barn masked the groans they couldn’t help but let out when they reached orgasmic heights neither of them had previously imagined they could reach. Like hikers reaching the peak of Everest for the first time together, they had attained simultaneous climax in the unlikeliest of places. Billy Bob’s family’s old barn. Standing since 1872.
As the morning sun poured in through a window near the ceiling, the couple curled up in each other’s arms, feeling safe and secure from the warm sensation of lovers’ flesh. In their half-asleep state, they had entered a state of bliss, unaware of the passage of time, forgetting the worries of the world around them. A sudden noise at the barn door completely shattered their illusory world, however, as the door soon slid open, revealing the figure of a man. There was barely any time for the two lovers to jump behind the bale of hay they were spooning on top of seconds ago. Billy Bob’s father was the man who had opened the door. They could not allow him to see them in this state. He was an unyielding religious man, a man who wouldn’t even approve of them kissing, much less of them rolling around on top of a bale of hay, body parts thrusting in and out of each other in the most vulgar way imaginable.
Just then, Billy Bob had remembered that he had promised to cook his father and mother breakfast. What was he to do? Here he was, naked as a jaybird in a barn, with no breakfast prepared. He saw his father go toward the far side of the barn to where the tools were. Now was his chance. Leaving his naked girlfriend behind the hay, he leapt toward the exit, his own tool flopping around like a fish that had just landed on the deck. He needed to think of a plan quickly, so that he wouldn’t leave his parents starving and suspicious. The coast was clear. He ran up to his room and threw on some clothes. Running down the stairs toward the kitchen, his mind was racing. He wasn’t the best cook in the world, but he could make some pretty good food when called upon.
A frittata. That’s what he would make. A nice, hearty egg dish for his parents. He cracked open some eggs into a big bowl, and then added some milk to thin it out a bit. Half of a loaf of stale bread was sitting on the counter, beckoning to him. Toast? Too boring. Croutons to go with a frittata? That’s got to be it. He started cutting the bread into little cubes. Not so small that they’re too delicate and fall apart. Not so big that they wouldn’t fit into his parents’ mouths. Just the right size. The cabinet above the counter was where the olive oil was. He needed the olive oil for his croutons. The cabinet door swung open, and out came a white powder. The bag of sugar had been carelessly thrown in there, and now it was spilling out in a thin stream like sand falling through an hourglass. The bowl with the eggs was directly in the path of the sugar stream. No! he exclaimed, as he reached up to stop the surge of sucrose. The waterfall of sweetness had stopped, but the damage was done. The eggs had been contaminated with sugar. Now what was he to do with sugar-tainted eggs?
There was the bread. The pile of croutons was calling to him. He could pour the egg mixture on top of the bread. The stale bread would soak that mixture right up. That could be baked in the oven into a delightful, hot breakfast treat. Cinnamon and raisins, those reminded him of breakfast. Those went into the mixture as well, and he threw the custard-soaked bread cubes into a baking dish.
Soon, his parents wandered into the kitchen. Where’s breakfast, they wanted to know. It’ll be out in a minute. Billy Bob peeked into the oven. The bread pieces had turned a golden brown, and the custard had set. A wonderful aroma filled the room. Cinnamon, raisins, custard… it was such a homely smell, so comforting. They all dug into the bread pudding. The warmth of the pudding, the sweetness of the raisins, the silkiness of the custard, it reminded Billy Bob of his beloved Bertha. Speaking of Bertha, where had she gone? He ran to the barn in a hurry.
He found her huddled next to the bale of hay. He quickly apologized for abandoning her for the better part of an hour, naked and alone in a barn. She was as mad as a bull in a bullfight. He knew the only way to fix this was to go down on her. Quickly. His tongue darted into her private area like a bomber performing a nose dive. As her clitoris was gently stroked by the warm wetness, all of her anger melted away like a pat of butter hitting a stack of warm pancakes, making way for indescribable pleasure. He pushed his tongue deeper into Bertha, and he felt satisfied that he had somehow averted two crises, one with his improvisational cooking skills, one with his skillful tongue. And it wasn’t even noon.
I found a recipe for bread pudding here, which seems a lot more carefully planned out than Billy Bob’s.
Bread Pudding
6 slices of stale bread
2 tablespoons butter, melted
1/2 cup raisins
4 eggs, beaten
2 cups milk
3/4 cup white sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- Preheat the oven to 350F.
- Cut the bread into small pieces and place into an 8×8 baking dish.
- Drizzle the melted butter on top of the bread, and sprinkle the raisins on top.
- Beat the eggs, milk, white sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla extract in a bowl until well-mixed.
- Pour the egg mixture over the bread pieces, and press down on the bread pieces so that they’re submerged.
- Bake in the oven for about 45 minutes. The top should spring back slightly.
I cut up the leftover bread from the summer pudding. I probably had a bit more than 6 slices, plus a lot of crusts.
The raisins, which I soaked in dark rum for an extra kick. I wasn’t prepared enough to soak them ahead of time, so I just put the raisins and rum in the microwave for a bit, to make the raisins soak up the rum faster.
The bread with melted butter and the rum-soaked raisins sprinkled on top.
The egg mixture, with eggs, milk, sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla extract.
The bread with the egg mixture poured over it.
The bread pudding, after 45 minutes in the oven.
The raisins are still a bit plump with rum, although I think a lot of it cooked off in the oven.
The top was nice and crispy, while the inside was nice and soft. It wasn’t too sweet though, probably because I had more bread than the recipe called for. I liked this bread pudding; it’s a nice, simple, homey dessert.