Bread pudding is a dessert popular in British cuisine and apparently Puerto Rican cuisine, Mexican cuisine, Argentina, Louisiana Creole and that of the Southern United States, as well as Belgian and French cuisine. The French refer to it by the English name "pudding" without the word "bread" and the Belgians call it Bodding or broodpudding, which literally translates as bread pudding. In Spanish it is also referred to as "Capirotada," "Migas" and "Pudín de Pan".

Bread pudding was born in the 13th century. Known as 'poor man's pudding' it was created as a means of salvaging stale bread. The bread was soaked in milk or water, then sugar, butter, fruit, and/or spices were added, and then it was baked.

It was a great war time recipe in England as it cost little and meant the frugal housewives had a use for left over bread.

This week I perfected my bread pudding and Bern reluctantly admitted it was to the same standard as his mother's. My next challenge will be the roast dinner......


200g/8oz bread, preferably stale, crusts removed
250ml/½ pint milk
0g/6oz mixed dried fruit
50g/2oz mixed peel, chopped
50g/2oz soft brown sugar
50g/2oz suet
2 tsp mixed spice
1 large egg, beaten
ground nutmeg (optional)
icing sugar or caster sugar to decorate

Method
1. Break bread into small pieces and place in a mixing bowl.
2. Pour over the milk and leave to soak for 30 minutes, then beat out the lumps with a fork to form a smooth mixture.
3. Add the fruit, mixed peel, sugar, suet, spice and egg and mix well.
4. Pour the mixture into a greased 18cm/7in square tin, smooth the top and sprinkle with nutmeg if liked.
5. Bake at 180C/350F/Gas4 for about 1-1½ hours until browned. Cool in the tin.
6. Cut the pudding into squares and sprinkle with caster or icing sugar. Alternatively serve hot with custard or cream.

This art nouveau mirror was just begging for a new home when I saw it at the recycling centre today. I gleefully handed over my £2. My first thought was to use it as a focal point in Becky's bedroom but it could be brightening up the stairs or hallway.

Yesterday, Me and 'him indoors' spent a couple of hours dismantling Becky's built in white wardrobe. As we approached the top of stairs with the first wood pile, Becky announced, 'Please can I have the white one back'. We looked from her to the neat stack of white wood, and then to each other.

'Show me which one', I managed. She pointed to the bedside dresser we had moved to the spare room. Then we breathed again.

Today, the sun being out, I hit the recycling centre. There was this Italian donkey that needed a home. I cannot turn my back on an italian donkey so for 50p it came home with me and I introduced it to the rest of my Italian collection. I would be made up if I found a donkey from Vietra, but that is another story.

I picked up a book for 50p at the local recycling centre, 'Beautiful Stranger' by Rod Mckuen. It slotted in just fine at home next to his other that I bought 35 years ago.

Apparently McKuen's work has never been taken seriously by the literary academy. I don't mind. Even if his poetry isn't technically correct it has a feel good factor about it, and that's all I need.

Before a tour of South Africa in the 1970s, McKuen demanded “mixed seating” among white and black concert-goers which remained for other performers. At 76, he is fast becoming my favourite defender of human rights.

I picked up this jump suit at the local recycling centre for £1. Made by Helena Young. I have no idea how it found it's way down to this part of the country. Helena is a freelance fashion designer at the Bureaux in London. It's the kind of item you either love or hate. It would suit a goth, punky look, hence Em is looking a little 'edgy' in it. I am still undecided about it's fate.

My daughter took me to the local Primark this week. Lots of tops from £2.50 to £5.00 so i picked some for other daughter. This is a dress Em bought for a party that night, £13. The jewellery was good too and a quantity made up a present for the Birthday Girl. I am unsure how I feel about Primark. It was an initiation into a jumble sale world with clothes thrown on the floor and queing to pay. In general I felt it was better than Matalan and you get a lot for your money. Time will tell how well these clothes last.

This morning on the computer I was talking to my Italian friend Luidgi.

I excused myself to top up my coffee.

'Doctor's orders, no coffee for me' Luidgi volunteered

I then explained my coffee wasn't 'proper'. It wasn't the black-as-year-old-motor-oil , continental variety.

On the subject of Doctor's, my youngest, who has trouble retaining information was very happy to inform me that, ' Doctor's have decided chocolate is good for you'.

Strange isn't it, that the Medics make this bold statement the day before Good Friday?

In the Pink

It was as I waited for the lights and the inevitable 'beep beep beep beep' of the crossing that I noticed her. Like the song she was ' carrying her home in two carrier bags',but to be accurate she was pushing them on a makeshift trolley. The wild flamingo pink hair shone amongst the commuters. As she levelled on the crossing with me I glanced over, her face was weathered and tanned, mouth in constant movement.

"It's a hap-hap-happy day Toobble-oobble-oobble-oobble-oobble-lay F' you 'n me f' us 'n webuh All the, errr, clouds habe rollid away It's a hap-hap-happy day Toobble-oobble-oobble-oobble-oobble-lay De sun shines brite 'n the, uh, the world's so rite."

A little skip accompanied the last line. I couldn't decide whether Pink lady was either under or over medicated. She was happy on this Spring day, and oblivious to others. I found a vantage point and watched her dance and skip her way.

"It's a hap-hap-happy day Four 'n twebuhnty sunbeams Are dancigg round my face Four score 'n twebuhnty more Are dancigg ebehy place It's a hap-hap-happy day Toobble-oobble-oobble-oobble-oobble-lay You can't go wrong if you sigg dis song It's a hap-hap-happy day."

I got caught in a combination of Roadworks and One way system on the way out of Town and had to circle it twice. I saw Pink Lady again while I was slow moving. She' d found her patch and was pacing and circling. Looking in the rear view mirror she did one of those sideway skips that I've only ever seen on the movies and that was the last I saw of her.

Cake

"You can't have your cake and eat it, too!"

Why the hell not? Of course you're going to eat the cake if you have it, otherwise it will rot. Yeah right, and I'm going to watch a cake rot? In your dreams.

What idiot thought up such a phrase to apply it to something that was bad?

Why the hell should I have cake if I can't eat it, too? I want pie and meat and potatoes and gravy. Am I supposed to sit and stare at a table full of food begging me to eat it like some kind of monastic self-flagellator?I don't think so.

I make my own culinary choices, I'll have you know!

John Keats is growing on me by the minute. He wrote "Eat your cake and have it too". Andrew Motion in the biography reckons he turned into Dr Cake. How apt. Shame he died so young. Did the cake have anything to do with it?

Ok, lets get this straight, you can eat your cake and not have it, have your cake and not eat it, but the trick is to eat your cake and have it too.

In fact as Easter is here I am also going to eat all the eggs. Look no further, I am the very person that ate all the pies.I will eat all the cake.

Doing well

Edith was thinking how well she was doing on her 90th birthday extinguishing the candles on her cake and then she looked down to realise her tits were dangling in the trifle.