I wibble-wobbled into a pudding doldrums and stayed there for a week. I became a custard golem, a sentient congealed skin. I ate a bowl full of each, even the one that tasted the way that peach skin feels. I tackled the project alphabetically, and friends, that meant four custards in a row. "Can I just have a pear?" whispered my sugar-mad six-year-old, weakly, on day 10.Įarly on I made a bad mistake. I cooked so much pudding that I extinguished my toddler's nascent love of both cooking and pudding. The markings rubbed off my measuring spoons. I pulled a muscle creaming butter and sugar. Through June I have cooked and sampled all 24, peaking at five puddings in one day.
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