Fist of Death Bread Pudding

Ingredients:

1 weird, unhealthy PMS craving. For this particular month, it was plain white pasta, cooked so al dente it was nearly crunchy. And it had to be twists. Do not ask questions. That was the sweet-spot, hit-the-button-dead-center food this morning.

1 impromptu nap sitting upright on the couch after eating said weird, unhealthy PMS craving. Make sure you feel good and logy, fat and crabby and pissed off at yourself afterwards for caving in to the simple carb demon.

1 case of butterfingers: drop a very expensive vial of insulin on the floor and break it.

1 phone call immediately after the butterfingers incident from distraught mother about antics of deceased psycho ex-boyfriend, his unfair will and his basket-case family.

3 packages of plain white hot dog buns leftover from recent family reunion.

About 3 cups of pitted fresh sweet dark cherry halves

About 1 cup dried tart cherries

8 eggs

2 cups half-and-half

2 cups skim milk

1 cup sugar

Pinch of mace and cardamom

1 tablespoon vanilla sugar

Directions:

Slice up all the buns and toast until golden brown under broiler, stirring pieces occasionally. Give self a good lecture about staying near the oven while the broiler is on, because all you need to top off the morning is a raging fire in the oven. Smear a 9 X 13 pan liberally with butter. Say what the hell, and toss in the entire misshapen lump into the bun pieces and let it melt. Let toasted bun pieces cool for no more than 30 seconds because you are impatient, and place half of them in pan. Smash flat with fist to make room for cherries, custard, and the rest of buns. Add dried and fresh cherries. Observe purple-stained hands and nails from pitting the cherries, and say what the hell, and smash those down with fist. Add the rest of bun pieces and pummel them down, too.

In a large mixing bowl, whisk eggs, half-and-half, milk, sugar, mace and cardamom and vanilla sugar. Pour over buns and cherries, naturally slopping some over the side of the pan and making a mess. Spy leftover partial can of evaporated milk in fridge and pour that in, too. Sprinkle a little more sugar on top, just because that sounds nice and simple carb-y.

Cover pan with plastic wrap and place in fridge while you get your 5-6 hours of beauty sleep, knowing your lower back will almost certainly hurt worse, but hoping that certain bloated, obnoxious parts of you hurt a little less when you get up.

Cover tightly with foil and bake in a 350 oven for about an hour. Uncover and broil for just a few minutes to brown up the top.

Serve warm (if you are impatient), room temperature, or chilled. Whatever. What the hell.

Makes enough for a big pan to take with a smile to coworkers, and two small oven-proof bowls for yourself and hubby.