It was my mother who first introduced me to the wonders of old-fashioned bread pudding. I remember the night well. We were in a hip little college-town restaurant that served pub food with a Southern twist. At the time, my middle school diet consisted of chicken fingers and cheese sticks, and only chicken fingers and cheese sticks, so it’s a shock that I was even willing to try a bite. In fact, I was probably the only child ever forced to sample a dessert against my will. (Like I said, if it wasn’t deep-fried, I didn’t want it.)
She ordered the bread pudding before she even ordered her entree, telling the server she wanted it piping hot and swimming in extra sauce. The secret, she explained to me, is always in the sauce. I took one bite of that steamy, drippy dessert and my life was changed forever. Am I being a little dramatic here? Nope; it’s bread pudding we’re talking about.
I think we even ordered another.