Proof of the Pudding

Having finally undertaken my annual end-of-year pantry clear-out, I found myself in possession of several unopened bags of organic stone-ground corn flour (hooray!); a long-forgotten container of xanthan gum (now consigned forever and for always to the Pitiless Purgatory of Dreadful Ingredients); a few packs of ramen left over from our hurricane scare of several months ago (the Kid Squid will eat them happily, for I sure can't); and two gluten-free panettone from Schär, which I had purchased some time ago in anticipation of the holidays.

I considered these last items somewhat glumly, I must confess. Although I am big fan of Schär's chocolate hazelnut wafers, I have yet to find a gluten-free bread worth the calories and did not hold out much hope for the loaves staring at me (somewhat impudently, I might add) from my kitchen counter. Fortunately, they contained no truly scarifying ingredients such as pea protein or bamboo roots - although their lack of lactose struck me as unnecessarily ascetic in this season of bounteous indulgence.

Upon opening the box, I was heartened to find something that looked suspiciously like the wheat-filled specimens of my dim and distant past - they were soft and spongy when tentatively poked and had a nice airy texture. I was so encouraged by my discovery that I decided on the spot to attempt its substitution in my favorite panettone application of all time: bread pudding!

I softened a stick of butter and mixed in enough cinnamon and freshly-grated nutmeg to make it taste zesty and festive. I sliced the panettone into half-inch slices and spread them liberally - they didn't disintegrate into oblivion! I felt almost optimistic as I layered them into a shallow baking dish:

Next, I whisked together nine egg yolks (well, it is the holidays, after all) and three-quarters of a cup of sugar. I heated up four cups of dairy (more or less evenly divided between cream and 2% milk: my arteries can only stand so much abuse) in the microwave until the mixture was steamy. I slowly whisked the hot moo into my eggs-and-sugar then added a splash of vanilla.

At this point there was only one thing for it: I was obliged by the laws of bread-pudding chemistry to introduce the custard to the panettone pieces. What would happen when the two substances came into contact? I had a pretty good idea: the panettone would dissolve utterly, leaving me with a dish full of raisin-laced mush. I screwed my courage to its sticking place and did the deed:

The bread didn't disappear! In fact, even after ten minutes of soaking it held its shape in a way that made me quite emotional. Not wanting to push my luck, I rushed it into a 350 deg F oven - even though traditional b/p requires at least half an hour of steeping to achieve creamy custardy deliciousness.

Half an hour later, I retrieved my creation from the hot box and scrutinized it with some satisfaction. The slices had retained their integrity and were starting - joy of joys - to get crispy on top. I sifted a heavy layer of powdered sugar over all and returned the dish to the oven for ten more minutes.

When time was up and the custard was set (but still slightly wobbly, of course) I placed the pud on a cooling rack and salvaged my chef's torch from its secret location in the rubber-band drawer. I bruleed the dessert's surface until it was brown and caramelized and toasty and then stood back, waiting impatiently for the thing to cool sufficiently for slicing.

And what do you think? My panettone pudding was delicious! Soft and creamy and eggy within - crusty and crispy on top. It was a reminder of an almost-forgotten treasure and I was filled with hope and optimism for 2012.

My happiness might even last until Monday.

Coming soon: I ponder uses for the bestest hostess present of all time, a box of cunning blue medicine bottles containing exotic small-batch bitters (cassia, camomile, and dried fruit! caramelized orange, coriander, and cardamom!) all the way from sunny Milwaukee, Wisconsin.