How Can You Have Any Pudding....

     Dinner last night was good, if I do say so myself.  I had some cube steaks, which I cook quite often, but I wanted to change up the sauce a little bit.  I had some dates in the pantry, and I thought....why not?  After searing the steaks on each side and removing them from the pan, I threw in some sliced onions.  I cooked those for a while, and then added minced garlic and the dates, which I had rough chopped.  I cooked those for just a few minutes, then deglazed the pan with some red wine.  After that it was beef stock and salt and pepper, a little bit of basil, and I put the steaks back in to braise.  After about an hour and a half, they were perfectly tender.  I served them with some mashed potatoes and green beans, and we all really enjoyed it.

     All of us, that is, except The Boy.  I made the mistake of commenting to The Man that I should have chopped the dates a little bit smaller, and from that point on, The Boy decided he didn't like the meat.  The conversation, from there, went something like this:

The Man: "If you don't eat your meat..."

The Girl: "You can't have any pudding."

The Man: "How can you have any pudding..."

The Girl: "If you don't eat your meat?"

(They're a regular Abbott and Costello, those two.)

The Boy: "I don't want any pudding."

Me: "I like pudding."

The Man: "Me, too."

The Girl: "I wish we could make some, but we don't have any pudding mixes."

Me: "Mixes??? We don't need no stinking mixes!"

(This is what happens when families eat together every night.  Conversation deteriorates.)

     So, I ended up making pudding.  Pastry cream is something I mastered in baking class, and once you get the hang of it, it's a nice technique to have in your bag.  I knew that chocolate pudding was just pastry cream with chocolate added, so I whipped up a batch.  Now, when I say I whipped up a batch, you should know that it's kind of a multi-step process that involves a lot of whisking and tempering and making an ice bath, etc., but it really isn't complicated.  And so, within twenty minutes, we had pudding.

     All of us, that is, except The Boy.  He had a piece of another failed loaf of banana bread.  Should have listened to Pink Floyd and eaten his meat.