Wayne Would Eat It, You Bet

The woman on the radio said, "We're compelled to give you Mommy's best recipe for bread and butter pudding, whether your Mommy has ever heard of it or not."

I suppose there are Mommies who have never heard of bread pudding, let alone made it. But that would not include my Mommy--whom I never called Mommy, by the way, and I wonder what might have happened if I had.

She made it--bread pudding. And we loved it, especially, I think, my dad.

I do know there are folks who have never eaten bread pudding and some who never would eat it. It's a custard, after all, and some people cannot "handle" custard. Too wiggly, too wobbly, can't stand the feel of it in the mouth. Or they don't like eggs. Or something.

I don't know if I've ever heard anyone say they don't like the taste of it. Maybe its custardy wobble has kept some from ever tasting it. For me, custard is one of this earth's heavenly things.

And I'm not kidding.

Oh well. To each his own (or "To Each Their Own," says Honda's commercial for its new Civic, which would keep me from buying that car if nothing else kept me from it.)

But this is about custard not cars.

When my mother came to visit, she might make us a bread pudding or maybe even a custard pie. Wayne was happy then. He loved pie. And he particularly liked my mother's custard pie. Of course, he wouldn't turn up his nose at her lemon meringue pie either.

Poor man, he, having married a non-pie-making woman. I did make bread pudding occasionally, but not what you'd call regularly. And he would, I believe, go to Chuck-A-Rama just so he could have the bread pudding for dessert.

That's pretty desperate.

I wonder, will there be custard in the resurrection? I hope so.