My neighbor once overcooked her pudding by an extra hour (she fell asleep watching a baking show). It turned out denser than a brick, but she still served it with ice cream and called it “deconstructed pudding.” Everyone loved it because it was made with love and a good story.
Another time, I forgot to butter the bowl. My pudding came out in humpty-dumpty pieces. I crumbled it into a glass, layered it with jam and cream, and called it a “trifle surprise.” My kids said it was the best dessert ever. Steaming forgives almost anything.
