I just wanted to have my bread pudding and eat it, too.

28 May

Due to some sort of mix-up at work, Nathan brought home two bags of sub buns the other night. He is a great cook and also loves bread pudding, so he used part of his day off to make a big pan of cranberry bread pudding. He cubed the sub buns, let them sit in a pan for several hours to dry out a bit, poured a bread/egg/sugar mixture over it, sprinkled cranberries on top, and popped it all in the oven. It came out looking like this:

bread pudding

Beautiful, right?

I knew that he had plans to make a rum sauce to serve it with, but the pudding was just too tantalizing. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to pinch off a little taste while he got started on the sauce. It was delicious, so I took another taste. And then another. And another.

Now, Nathan is a very tolerant and patient person, but as he stood there bringing some milk to a boil in a sauce pan, watching me pick off pieces of his perfect bread pudding, he finally got exasperated and said, “STOP!”

me: But it’s so good!
him: You didn’t even want bread pudding!
me: Well, I didn’t know it was going to be GOOD!*
him: WHAT.

I stopped mutilating his pudding after that. Later, once Nathan plated it and drizzled the rum sauce over it, I ate half of my piece and then gave him the rest because it turns out that the cranberries were too tart for me.

Or maybe because the pudding just wasn’t nearly as appealing when he actually wanted me to eat it.

* For the record, 99.8% of anything he’s ever made me has been delicious. There was one incident involving some daal that made me cry because I felt bad for not liking it, but that’s another story for another day.

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