Warm Sticky Toffee Pudding

Peter did not call. I called him. He picked up on the third try. He sounded thin — the way he has sounded for months now, the way Pappa used to sound. I told him about the meatballs I was making. He said he wished he was here. I said come for Christmas. He said he would try. I did not push. I did not lecture. I said I loved him. I hung up the phone and I stood at the kitchen sink for a long minute looking at the lake. Sophie texted a photo of Mira eating cereal. Mira's face was covered in milk. The photo was lit from the side by morning light and the smile in it was uninhibited and full and I could not stop looking at it. I printed the photo. I taped it to the fridge. I have a system on the fridge now: a column for each grandchild, a column for each great-grandchild, photos rotated weekly. The fridge is the gallery. The gallery is the proof. Peter called from Chicago. He sounded thinner than last week. He said work was fine. I do not believe him. He said his apartment was fine. I do not believe him either. He asked about the dog. He asked about the lake. He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him too. I told him about the bread I was baking. He said he could almost smell it through the phone. We hung up. I stood at the sink for a long minute. I did not know what else to do. Thanksgiving is approaching. The brining starts on Tuesday. The pies start on Wednesday. The kitchen begins its annual reorganization for the bird — turkey out of the freezer to the cooler in the garage, fridge cleared for the brine cooler, the big roasting pan brought up from the basement, the carving knife sharpened, the gravy boat located (last seen on the top shelf of the pantry, where it lives all year except this one week). The kids are all coming. The house is going to be full. I am ready. I cooked Pot roast this week. The November weeknight standard. The Damiano Center: the regular Thursday. The soup is the soup. The conversations are the conversations. The week is held by the Thursday. I do not know what I would do without the Thursday. The Thursday is the structural element of the week. The structural element does not collapse if the rest of the week goes sideways. The Thursday holds. The lake was iron gray. The kind of gray Paul loved. He used to say: "That is the gray that means weather is coming." He was always right. I miss being told. I miss being told what the lake means by a man who knew what the lake meant. I have learned to read the lake on my own. I am, at this point, an adequate reader. I am not as good as Paul was. I am better than I would have been if I had not had to learn. It is enough. It has to be. And on a morning like this, with the lake doing what the lake does and the dog at my feet and the bread on the counter and the kitchen warm enough to live in, it is. It is enough.

The pot roast had done its work that week — the house smelled of it all evening, and it was enough — but what I found myself wanting after, after the phone call with Peter and the photo of Mira and the iron-gray lake outside, was something sweet and unambiguous. Something that did not require explanation. Warm Sticky Toffee Pudding is that thing for me: it is Paul’s favorite dessert and mine both, and making it now feels less like a ritual of grief than a ritual of continuation, which I suppose is the only kind of ritual worth keeping.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 55 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 cup pitted Medjool dates, roughly chopped
1 cup boiling water
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon fine salt
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
2 large eggs, room temperature
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Toffee Sauce:
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
3/4 cup heavy cream
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Pinch of salt

Instructions

Soften the dates. Place the chopped dates in a heatproof bowl. Pour the boiling water over them, stir in the baking soda, and let the mixture sit for 10 minutes until the dates are very soft and the liquid has darkened. Mash roughly with a fork — a few lumps are fine.
Prepare the pan and oven. Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Butter a 9-inch square baking dish or eight individual ramekins generously, then dust lightly with flour.
Cream butter and sugar. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter and brown sugar together until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.
Add eggs and vanilla. Beat in the eggs one at a time, then stir in the vanilla extract. The batter may look slightly curdled — this is normal.
Combine dry ingredients. Whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt in a separate bowl.
Bring the batter together. Fold the flour mixture into the butter mixture in two additions, alternating with the date mixture, beginning and ending with the flour. Stir only until just combined; do not overmix.
Bake. Pour the batter into the prepared dish and bake for 30—35 minutes (25 minutes for ramekins), until the top is set and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
Make the toffee sauce. While the pudding bakes, melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the brown sugar and stir until dissolved, about 2 minutes. Pour in the cream, add the salt and vanilla, and stir constantly until the sauce is smooth and slightly thickened, about 4—5 minutes. Keep warm over the lowest heat.
Serve. Use a skewer or thin knife to poke holes across the surface of the hot pudding. Pour half the toffee sauce directly over the pudding and let it soak in for 5 minutes. Serve warm, with additional sauce spooned over each portion and a scoop of vanilla ice cream or a spoonful of clotted cream if you have it.

Nutrition (per serving)

Warm Sticky Toffee Pudding — The Kitchen Holds When Everything Else Shifts