I make a decent bread pudding even if I say so myself. It was one of the first things I learned how to cook and rather like my maternal grandmother I tend not to use a recipe but chuck random amounts of fruit into the combo depending on what’s in the cupboard.
At Christmas there’s the chocolate pantone bread pudding which requires copious amounts of nutella and chocolate chips. An then there’s my new invention, the Dutch apple cake bread pudding of this evening because I forgot that I’d bought the cake in a one buy one free offer for HWIOO to have with his lunch – not a whole cake in one go, obviously a slice at a time but its been languishing in the back of the cupboard ever since. “Aha!” I thought when I saw it – bread pudding with ice cream. On this occasion I even managed to use up the three apples that had been languishing at the back of the fridge for some considerable while as part of the base – sort of apple crumble meets bread pudding or a heavy duty queen of puddings without the meringue on top.
The only thing is I hadn’t banked on the apple cake needing less time in the oven than the standard bread pudding. Consequentially the top was somewhat caramelised…we’re not talking incinerated here, just somewhat crisp.
The Right Little Madam may have a promising career as a food critic if we can ever get her to eat anything more exotic than macaroni cheese given her seeringly honest appraisal, “You’ve burned it Granny.” And this before I’d actually managed to put it on the table. She said ti kindly as though I may not have noticed it prior to her alerting me to the fact. Actually I was rather hoping that no one else would notice.
“Okay it may have had five minutes too long or been cooked at too high a temperature.”
She nodded, “Burned.” By this stage she was attacking her portion with the intensity of Norman Bates in the shower scene of Psycho. Ultimately she shoved the bowl at HWIOO, “You do it Granddad. The caramelised bit which is actually a burned bit is too hard for the spoon.”
So there you have it, my cooking pretensions trounced by a personage of tender years. And no there’s no picture.