This may gross some of you out, but yesterday I found some free bread on the ground. Today I plan to make some New Orleans-style bread pudding. Let me explain: my son's preschool is across the street from a giant bakery, one that makes po-boy bread for restaurants. (The air around his school often smells like baking bread, adding to the wholesome charm, although the yeasty smell also makes me think of breweries, like in Milwaukee, where I'm originally from.)
Anyway. Occasionally, they must have some leftover or day-old bread because there was a big bag of perfectly good po-boy loaves on the playground down the street, presumably left for the taking. Now, I used to volunteer with Food Not Bombs, so I'm no stranger to dumpster diving or freegan food. I checked it over carefully: it was not even stale. I let my kid eat some, and we took a big loaf home.
I cut this recipe from a magazine (don't know which one) a long time ago. It's pretty close to the bread puddings I've tasted around town. The only exception is pineapple: I find pineapple in local puddings but this recipe doesn't call for it. Personally, I don't care for the pineapple, but I imagine it could be tossed in with the raisins (maybe reduce the milk a bit to compensate for the pineapple's juiciness?). There's a recipe for bourbon sauce at the end (and strawberry sauce, too).
Favorite Raisin-Bread Pudding
3+3/4 cups milk
5 eggs
1/2 c. sugar
1+1/2 teaspoons vanilla
1/8 tsp. salt
3 +1/4 cups raisin-bread cubes (or 3 +1/4cups freegan bread cubes and 1/4 cup raisins)
ABOUT 2 HOURS BEFORE SERVING OR EARLY IN THE DAY:
Preheat oven to 325.
In 1+1/2 quart casserole with wire whisk or fork, beat milk, eggs, sugar, vanilla, and salt until blended. Stir in bread cubes (and raisins).
Set casserole in 8x8 baking pan; place pan on oven rack. Pour hot water into pan to come halfway up side of casserole. Bake in 325 degree oven for 1.25 hours or until knife inserted in center comes out clean.
Serve pudding warm, or cover and refrigerate at least 3 hours to serve chilled. Dump on sauce:
Bourbon Sauce
3 Tbsp butter or margarine
1 Tbsp flour
1/2 c. sugar
1 c. whipping cream
2 Tbsp. bourbon
1 Tbsp. vanilla
1 tsp. nutmeg
Melt butter in small saucepan; whisk in flour, and cook 5 minutes. Stir in sugar and whipping cream; cook 3 minutes. Stir in bourbon, vanilla, and nutmeg, and simmer 5 minutes. Try not to eat it all.
Strawberry Sauce
In food processor, blend 2 c. fresh or frozen (thawed) strawberries and 1.4 c. sugar. That's it! Unless you think it could use some rum...
Enjoy!


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Comments
We had no idea we would miss proper French bread as much as we do.
Thanks, psychomama, for checking it out!
Tequila, it's true, the French bread here is just amazing. Check out my recipe for red beans and rice if you guys really want to miss NOLA. ;-)
BTW, my version of this with the freegan po-boy bread turned out really good!
She had grown up in a New Orleans housing project shamefully named Desire. Desire had been constructed in an isolated area northwest of greater New Orleans, bordered by industrial canals and railroad tracks. Pinch often recounted her nights as a young child lying on the floor under a matted blanket listening to gunshots in the night. Desire had been built in the late 40s over the Hideaway Club where Fats Domino had played his first gigs. Pinch swore she could hear Fats sing “My Blue Heaven” just for her. As Pinch’s childhood tumbled forward, she learned survival skills. By the age of twelve, she had tried just about every street drug going and stole to keep from going hungry, acquiring the nickname Pinch. She would have been doomed to a child’s death but for the help of an aged aunt. Pinch pulled herself up, finished high school, and made it through college by working sometimes two shifts as a housekeeper in seedy hotels that bordered the Ninth Ward. A city auditor once asked her why she hadn’t worked in the Lafayette Square District or the famous 625 St. Charles suites. “You could have paid for a Ph.D. with the tips alone.” And she replied: “Well, I guess ‘dis sista just feeling mo’ secure wid da brothers. Ozanam Inn be my place, homeless peoples and all.” Then she rubbed his arm. The poor guy broke out in a sweat, brushed his thinning hair back with an aged-spotted trembling hand, and looked at me for intervention. Later I asked Pinch why she’d stuck it to the auditor; she shrugged her shoulders and replied: “I guess just every once and a while I have to remind myself where I come from. Pride has many forms, love.” Pinch had overcome. She was the bravest person I ever knew.
Elijah Rising
pain perdue!!!!