August 18, 2009 by skwishface
How’s that for a mouthful of letters? Cinnamonraisinbreadpuddingcups. Trippingly off the tongue, no?
A little while back, there was a gathering of hungry folk at my house. Fun was had by all. I laughed, I cried, it was better than Cats. As the dust settled, I realized I had a surplus of eggs. A plethora. Do joo know what a “plethora” ees?
In this case, a “plethora” is a couple dozen. Which needed to be cooked and eaten before my nightmare vision of eggs rotting and corrupting the entire fridge (as their kind are wont to do, so sayeth the cliche … or is that apples?) came to pass. Time to start using up the leftovers. I scanned my cupboards and found that we also had an excess of cinnamon raisin bread. We buy this stuff because The Boy loves it, and there’s really nothing easier than slathering a slice of the stuff with peanut butter, folding it in half, and calling it Preschooler Lunch. However, sometimes a new loaf comes home from the store before the old loaf is quite done. Such was the case on this fine day. Hence …
Cinnamon Raisin Bread Pudding Cups (cost: maybe $6, prep time: 1.5 hours, cook time: 20-30 mins)
2 cups milk
4 whole eggs
12 slices cinnamon raisin bread (stale)
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 heaping massive spoonful brown sugar
(printable version of this recipe can be found here)
First, the bread must be stale. Why? Because moist bread, while delicious, is not prepared to soak up more moisture. It’s already moist. What need does it have for moisture? But dry, stale bread is parched and thirsts for moisture in which to soak. And that’s what we’ll be doing. Soaking the bread in moisture. Which I haven’t said enough. Moist moisture moist moist.
The best way to lay out bread to intentionally make it get stale is to use a toast rack. Since I have neither the money nor the counter space to own such a charmingly single-tasky device, I improvised:
Let that sit out for at least an hour. You need dry, crackly, unappetizing bread.
In the meantime, make with the moisture. Or custard, if you’re being persnickety. Milk and eggs into a bowl!
Whisky-whisky-whisky till it’s all mixed together.
Add vanilla and brown sugar …
Mix it all together. Take a picture of it. Realize that it looks remarkably similar to the picture you took right after mixing the eggs and milk together. Sigh. Move on.
Take your stale bread and slice it in fourths in one direction …
… and in the other direction.
You’re going for smallish, roughly cube-ular pieces. Once it’s all cut up, dump every last bit of the bread into your custard bowl and stir it all together.
Slap a lid on the bowl (or cover with clingwrap, if you can deal with the stuff without cussing) and tuck it away in the fridge for at least half an hour. Don’t go over two hours, but definitely don’t jump the gun and give it less than 30 minutes. You want that dry, thirsty bread to have a long, slow drink of the good stuff.
Afterwards, it’ll look somewhat like this:
Kinda the same, but more plumped up. Full of custardy sugary vanillay goodness.
Preheat your oven to 350-degrees. Grab your friendly neighborhood muffin pan and grease it up. Like, alot. Use butter or non-stick spray, I care not. Just so long as your finished pudding cups pop out easily.
Spoon the mixture evenly throughout the pan.
Pop ’em onto the center rack of your oven for 20-30 minutes, until they’re golden brown. They’ll puff up quite a bit while cooking, but don’t be afraid. Once they’re out of the oven they’ll deflate to a manageable size.
And then you’ll have warm, creamy, cinnamony, single-serving breakfasts!
In hindsight, I realize that these really could use some icing. Ah well. Next time!