A maple-scented pudding and a quiet moment alone.

It’s finally quiet, except for the squeak-bark of some cat-infuriating miniature dog or giant rodent on its leash and squatting beneath the wilted rhododendron bush beside the street. Nick is out for a nerdy night of board games with his friends. The baby is sleeping. I have sent out all the resumés I feel like sending out for today, and am no longer wearing pants (as is my preference). There are dried smears of yogurt and vegetable purée all over everything including the washable high chair I keep not washing, but I am not going to let that be my problem. That is why I have Nick.

We are spending a lot of time together now that neither of us is required at an office every day, and though the ratio of arms to babies is now 4:1, I’m still finding myself busy most of the time. There are cover letters to write and my resumé to tweak for each job application. Every time I click “submit” or “send” on some application I panic that I accidentally typed the bad words I’m always thinking, or that I used the wrong homonym, or that I spelled the word “editor” with two Ds.

There are meals to make: minimally spiced purées for the baby and interestingly spiced lunches and dinners for the diabetic, who answers “I’m not really excited about that” to most of what I suggest we eat. We keep producing dirty laundry. I spend a lot of time shaving my legs in case someone calls for a last-minute interview and there’s no time to find or buy pantyhose. I always have to go to the store.

But when there is no one around to bug me, I eat pudding.

The surest way to ensure that no one else touches my pudding is to make it with tapioca.

Stirring a sweet-smelling pot of goo can be relaxing, helping to erase the little panics and trifles that so often take up the days. The goo will burble softly, in a way that is wholly unlike something tedious like oatmeal or hot cereal (which splatters and plops and lacks euphony). You can make pudding for other people, and sometimes I do, but a small amount of pudding is the sort of easy indulgence that suits a night alone, in a room barely lit by a lamp in the corner that’s just bright enough to read a book beside.

The tapioca pudding recipe I like to use is at Simply Recipes, though once you make it the recipe will stick in your head forever (it’s that easy). I don’t know enough people who like tapioca pudding to have ever made a full batch, so I can tell you that a half-batch works quite nicely – it will make enough to fill four ramekins or two soup bowls (I always eat one serving warm, and then another much later after it’s been in the fridge for awhile).

I am not going to bother reprinting the recipe here as it’s all right there, but I will tell you that I make a few changes.

  • Instead of white sugar, I use maple syrup, and rather than add it after the pot comes to a boil, I add it at the beginning. It’s less sweet this way, but more complex. If you don’t have maple syrup, use honey, or brown sugar.
  • At the end, rather than add a drop of vanilla extract, I like a scrape of half of one vanilla bean.

When you are making something that is just for you, use good ingredients (tapioca costs so little anyway) – you will be more inclined to savour if you use the good stuff, and it will be the good kind of eating alone (there is a bad kind of eating alone, which I also enjoy, but for that just use the cheap stuff).

This is a good for-now recipe, for while we’re still not into the abundant-fruit season. Do you realize that in just a few short weeks and we’ll be having conversations like this one over lightly sugared local strawberries? And reading our books in patches of summer sunlight. I can’t wait.

8 thoughts on “A maple-scented pudding and a quiet moment alone.

  1. Hahaha, yep! If I want a pud to myself, I make semolina. None of my daughters like it, it’s heaven! The sweet graininess that I love repels them like vampires offered a tray of garlic nibbles.
    Oooh, reading books in patches of summer sunlight… got my eye on a gorgeous spot in the garden for that day. Till then… you’re right, pudding and a cosy corner with a glowing lamp fill the void.


    1. How do you make semolina pudding? That sounds interesting, and not the least bit repellent! Garden spots are the best. I hope you have a bench or a good blanket.


  2. I loooove tapioca. I don’t think I could accomplish this though. Every time I try to make a dessert-type thing, it’s disgusting.

    I love the name of your blog. Pretty much describes my life.


  3. tapioca would work here, too, for fending off the other hungry spoons – I might try it tonight … those kids-asleep moments to ourselves are the best – and a good-kind-of-eating-alone treat is absolutely called for. Beautiful post.


  4. Maria – Sometimes I just eat brown sugar by the spoonful … in a dessert-related pinch it works. Also thank you! I wish we could call it “TONS OF MONEY ALL YOU CAN EAT” but, well … you know.

    Hannah – Thank you!


  5. Just finished making a pot of tapioca pudding and waiting for it to cool. Haven’t had pudding in ages…really want to make some rice pudding with raisins.


  6. Just an update – made the pudding, loved it. I have not gotten to make it again since, but I think about it a lot, and one of these nights … thanks for a great recipe 🙂


    1. I’m so glad! I hope you do get to make it again. Pudding makes everything better. Thank you for letting me know!


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