The Muddy Kitchen: Bread Pudding Pumpkins

 Right now.  This is the time.  The pumpkins are ripe, the bread is stale, and the kids are hungry.

  

This recipe is for just one little pumpkin, or li'l punkin, if you will, and I hope you will.  Click the picture of this recipe to see it enlarged.

Of course, we made six of these, but could only eat three.  So, when you're reading some of my crazy quantities, keep in mind, I took the above recipe and multiplied it by six.  And that ended up being twice as much food as we needed!  But that's because we added ice cream, which isn't called for, but was, in a way. 

First, you seize the moment, and carpe the pumpkin.  Here George tops it with a special serrated tool from a pumpkin carving kit.  As we worked, I regaled the kids with horror stories of The Days Before They Made Pumpkin Carving Kits.  "It was just the big knife. And the big spoon!" I said, in my best creepy voice.   "You'd stab your kitchen floor, every time!"  I don't think they believed me, but it was true.  All too true.  

Each kid has that first year, when they can do most of the pumpkin work on their own, if left alone.  This was George's year.

Once your gourds are cleaned out, score the insides with a knife.  We have a set of knives we let the little kids use, because they're somewhat effective, but not likely to cause an injury.  The red-handled one Mae is holding here is serrated, but not too rough or sharp to the touch; perfect for grooving up the inside of a pumpkin. 

They're ready for sauce, and baking, but first let's get the younger kids tearing up the bread.  That'll keep them busy while we deal with tricky things like melted butter.  Right?  

 This is just a day-old baguette, and George and Mae have been given orders to tear it to shreds.  Only one problem.

We got an eater here.  For goodness' sake, at least try to be a little sneaky about it.  

Seriously, how am I supposed to walk away from this? 

Okay, I guess most of it ended up in the pot.

ope!  Hey!

C'mon, I need to go do the sauce.  Otherwise, this is just a pot of shredded bread and some raw pumpkins, and nobody wants that.  

Bake these for about thirty minutes after bathing the inside of the pumpkin in a mixture of Paula Deen proportions of melted butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, and maple syrup.  Toss the remaining butter sauce over what's left of your baguette, and a couple of cups of raisins, and a couple of cups of chopped walnuts.   

When the pumpkins are good and squishy, fill them with the bread mixture and pour over it with a whisked-together 2 c. milk, 12 eggs, and 4 cups of grated cheddar cheese.  At this point, even Mrs. Deen herself would walk out of the room in disgust, but press on!  Pour this mixture over the bread mix, filling the pumpkins, and put them back in the oven for 45 minutes to an hour.  Basically until they look like this:  

Let them cool, cut them into halves, slices, or wedges, peel off the skins and go to town.  Just make sure you have a plan for the leftovers.  

And I'm not saying another word about the scoop of vanilla ice cream that got served with each wedge.  Not a word.  Make peace with your own demons on that one.