Cake or Death?: pudding

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

TWD: Mint and Chocolate Split-Level Pudding

Originally, I wasn't going to make these split-level puddings. We're not...how you say...pudding people around my house, and it seemed like a waste of time and energy to make something no one would really eat. But then, my friends, I had a vision.

A vision of adorable mini pudding glasses filled with rich chocolate ganache sloping downward at an artistic angle, a vision of creamy pale green pudding infused with fresh mint leaves, a vision of these pudding glasses topped by the weensiest of chocolate truffles and garnished with more fresh mint leaves. And friends, I had to make this vision a reality. CAN I GET AN AMEN?

Yes, for me, this week was all about style over substance. If we weren't going to gobble down the pudding, at least we could rhapsodically gaze at it for awhile. Want to recreate my vision? Making the asymetrical ganache layer is dead simple--the hardest part is finding a sturdy way to tilt your glasses/containers so that they can stay at an angle. Sometimes balancing them in an egg carton works. For these glasses, I placed them in a box, leaning against the side, and wedged a book underneath so they wouldn't fall. Then I piped in the ganache when it was nice and warm and liquidy, and carefully placed the box in the fridge to set the ganache. Once it's set, you can remove it from the setup and the ganache will stay at an angle in the cups.
I'm a little obsessed with mint right now, so there was no question that the pudding would be infused with fresh mint leaves. The flavor is so subtle yet refreshing, there's really no comparison with mint extract. And it's so lovely against the chocolate ganache. I wasn't sure about coloring the pudding, but the thought of a mint-flavored pale yellow pudding seemed wrong (I guess I'm a literalist) so I added just a smidge of green color and prayed that green pudding wouldn't be too off-putting.

The extra ganache was rolled into tiny truffles, and some extra mint leaves were used as garnish on top. They were mainly for decoration, but I also liked how they added more chocolate flavor, since the recipe as written provides a lot more pudding than ganache.

And how did they taste? Well, someone--let's not name names, now--forgot to add the butter to the pudding, so it was a little stiffer and less silky than one would hope. And rubbery pudding, even when paired with nice chocolate ganache, is not so delightful. But the flavors were good, and they looked great, so I guess this counts as a win for the week, once again proving that it's appearances, not what's inside, that truly counts.

Tuesdays with Dorie: Chocolate Bread Pudding

My name is Elizabeth, and I'm a bread pudding-holic.

Hi, Elizabeth!

I first experimented with bread pudding in college, at a cozy restaurant called The Press in Claremont. I enjoyed it and ordered it on a regular basis, but I was able to control my intake and considered my bread pudding consumption to be at a healthy level. I was what you might call a recreational bread pudding eater.

My actual addiction started a few months ago, when we introduced bread pudding to our menu at the bakery. Our bread pudding is made with toasted croissants, soaked in a vanilla and almond-scented custard and baked with semi-sweet chocolate chunks until golden and crunchy on top, and moist inside. Making bread pudding involves mixing the bread in with the custard by hand, so I constantly found myself elbow-deep in huge bowls of soaking croissants. The first time I made it, I gave myself a little taste, purely as a quality-control measure, you understand.

I was immediately hooked. When first mixed, the croissants retain much of their texture, so you get buttery, slightly crunchy bread soaked with a sweet vanilla-almond liquid. The contrast of tastes and textures is amazing. I had one, two, three bites at a time. I literally couldn't put it down...and this was the unbaked mixture! Soon all I could think about was my next bread pudding fix. If I didn't have any for several days I became nervous and irritable, jonesing for my next bite of that sweet sweet nectar.

I would like to say that I've recovered, but the truth is that I'm still in the throes of addiction, and this week's TWD recipe didn't help matters. I love bread pudding so much, I'm not even put off when it comes out of the oven looking like the vomit of Satan:

Seriously, could there be a more unappetizing picture in the history of desserts? Matters improve only slightly with a cosmetic dusting of powdered sugar:

On to the recipe itself. In my extensive bread pudding baking experience, I would say that this recipe is in the Top 5 of those I have tried. It's much wetter than most bread puddings I've made in the past, and I thought the addition of a water bath was unique (and maybe unnecessary?). If I were to make it again, I'd cut the liquid by at least 1/3 and try omitting the water bath, to simplify the recipe. I added chunks of chocolate to the bread, and I liked the resulting pockets of chocolate in the pudding, but I wished for more texture, so next time I might add toasted pecans or walnuts.

Dorie recommends eating it cold, but I liked it much better warm, actually--and it reheated like a dream. I used croissants in mine, since they were easier to find than brioche, but I think brioche might have kept its texture better with all that liquid, so I'll try and track down brioche next time. Still, the croissants performed admirably:
I tried to eat as much of this bread pudding as possible, going by the theory that I would get so sick of it, it would cure my addiction. I am sorry to report that this course of action didn't work, and I was left with an empty bread pudding dish, a full stomach, and an intense craving a mere 12 hours later. However, I am currently 2 days clean and am trying to live one day at a time. Thank you all for your support.

[Confidential to my fellow LA-ites: I must warn you about the worst bread pudding I've ever had. Last month I had the misfortune to try some from a Santa Monica restaurant that shall remain nameless, but it starts with an "H" and ends with an "uckleberry Cafe," and it is, believe it or not,well known for its bread pudding. Unfortunately, the bread pudding was more like a bread flan, it was so extremely eggy. And it was not sweet, at ALL, so the end result was like the mutant baby of a sponge, an omelet, and chewy paste. Am I conveying how awful this was? To add insult to injury, nearby tables were happily gumming their way through this bread pudding, and no doubt rushing home to yelp about how rad and retro it is and lure more innocents into paying for the privilege of not eating it. Consider yourselves warned.]