I have a craving for bread pudding.
As a young girl, I could walk almost the length of the cornfield, past my favorite climbing tree, over the hill, resting momentarily on a big rock, continue on beside a stand of trees, around the asparagus field and find myself at Grandma's house. I would open the screen door and immediately experience the aroma of whatever it was she was baking in her kitchen. The laundry room or mud room was where one entered her house with the modern appliances on one side and an old wringer washer in the corner. There was a big utility sink and a tin cup with a handle hanging on the wall for anyone who was thirsty.
Entering Grandma's kitchen was like walking into the gates of the heavenly realms. She baked her own bread, always wearing her housedress and apron, and usually had some loaves cooling on the counter. Her pies were made with whatever was in season: cherries, blueberries, apples, peaches. And she made the very best sugar cookies and molasses cookies I could ever imagine eating.
Sitting on a bench against the windows I would watch Daddy eating milk toast. Grandma would slice off a big, thick piece of freshly baked white bread, place it in a shallow dish and cover it with milk. Sugar would go on top and a simple, satisfying treat would be created. I would later discover bread pudding which offered the same kind of warm, feel-good comfort.
Walking into the dining room I would go over to the old sewing machine in the corner and become fascinated with the big basket of quilting squares and a large coffee can containing buttons of all sizes and colors. In Grandma's living room sat the old upright piano where she would play hymns to sing in church and at weddings. Her Bible on the table was always open. And whenever Billy Graham came on the television, everyone in the room got quiet.
There is a recipe in the Joy of Cooking for bread pudding with meringue. I'm fairly sure I can round up the ingredients since it is mainly bread, milk, eggs and sugar--the staples of any kitchen. It is a resourceful dish, the kind that set the foundation for my life.
As a young girl, I could walk almost the length of the cornfield, past my favorite climbing tree, over the hill, resting momentarily on a big rock, continue on beside a stand of trees, around the asparagus field and find myself at Grandma's house. I would open the screen door and immediately experience the aroma of whatever it was she was baking in her kitchen. The laundry room or mud room was where one entered her house with the modern appliances on one side and an old wringer washer in the corner. There was a big utility sink and a tin cup with a handle hanging on the wall for anyone who was thirsty.
Entering Grandma's kitchen was like walking into the gates of the heavenly realms. She baked her own bread, always wearing her housedress and apron, and usually had some loaves cooling on the counter. Her pies were made with whatever was in season: cherries, blueberries, apples, peaches. And she made the very best sugar cookies and molasses cookies I could ever imagine eating.
Sitting on a bench against the windows I would watch Daddy eating milk toast. Grandma would slice off a big, thick piece of freshly baked white bread, place it in a shallow dish and cover it with milk. Sugar would go on top and a simple, satisfying treat would be created. I would later discover bread pudding which offered the same kind of warm, feel-good comfort.
Walking into the dining room I would go over to the old sewing machine in the corner and become fascinated with the big basket of quilting squares and a large coffee can containing buttons of all sizes and colors. In Grandma's living room sat the old upright piano where she would play hymns to sing in church and at weddings. Her Bible on the table was always open. And whenever Billy Graham came on the television, everyone in the room got quiet.
There is a recipe in the Joy of Cooking for bread pudding with meringue. I'm fairly sure I can round up the ingredients since it is mainly bread, milk, eggs and sugar--the staples of any kitchen. It is a resourceful dish, the kind that set the foundation for my life.
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