I have a bread pudding, baking inside the oven, as I type now.
A dozen slices of white bread, broken into tiny bits, now lie in my old, glass Pyrex dish. Soaked in a heavenly bath of beaten eggs, brown sugar, vanilla extract, nutmeg and cinnamon powders, warm milk, and butter. Mingling among them are plump, golden-brown raisins. It will take around 40 minutes until the top forms a lovely brown crust and the inside cooks into a delicious, thick yellow pudding. In another 20 or 30 minutes, I can be sure of cutting a thick slice of the warm pudding and setting it on a plate for me to eat.
Right now, it's the only thing that makes sense in my life. Right now, it's the only thing I'm sure of about the immediate future. I have no idea where or how I'm going to live in the coming weeks and months. In fact, I'm not even sure I will still have the space to keep my oven. But the thought of that simple bread pudding, coming together inside my trusty old oven, is the only thing that comforts me right now.
2 comments:
NOTHING like bread pudding.
The last few meals out I have chosen it and been delighted each time. Real comfort food.
Over here they have taken to using brioche, and the last one I had had cherries and chocolate in it. But I would choose the one you are making because I know you put your heart in it.
That's scary, Cloud, to not know. I hope things work out really well for you. I hope, when you say, "This too shall pass" you'll find comfort in that, and the courage to see it all through.
My comfort food...baked potato chips and ketchup. And tomato juice.
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