
Chef Thomas
Apple Charlotte
Buttered bread baked to a deep mahogany around a filling of spiced Bramley apples, turned out at the table in a small moment of drama, cold cream poured from a jug alongside.
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A proper baked rice pudding, slow-cooked in whole milk with butter and nutmeg until the top sets into a freckled golden skin. The kind of pudding that makes January feel like less of a long haul.
There are two kinds of people in this world, and one of them scrapes the skin off a rice pudding. I'll never understand it. The skin is the whole point. That wrinkled, freckled, golden layer where the milk has caramelized and the nutmeg has settled and the butter has done its quiet work. If you take that away you're left with porridge, and porridge is for breakfast.
This is a pudding for a cold evening in the middle of the week. Nothing much to do with your hands. You rub a dish with butter, tip in rice and sugar and milk, grate over more nutmeg than feels reasonable, and slide the whole thing into a low oven. Then you leave it. For two and a half hours, give or take, the kitchen gradually fills with the smell of warm milk and something faintly toasted, and by the time you pull it out the top has set into a skin that looks almost too beautiful to break.
I wrote it down in the notebook years ago with three words: rice, milk, skin. That's all it needed then and it's all it needs now. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract, and this one has been speaking to me for decades.
Serve it in a warm bowl, straight from the dish, with a spoonful of something sharp on the side if the mood takes you. Raspberry jam, stewed rhubarb in spring, a blob of bramble jelly in autumn. Or nothing at all. We're only making dinner.
Quantity
100g
short grain
Quantity
1 litre
Quantity
60g
Quantity
25g
plus extra for the dish
Quantity
1
for grating
Quantity
1 strip
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
to serve
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| pudding riceshort grain | 100g |
| whole milk | 1 litre |
| golden caster sugar | 60g |
| unsalted butterplus extra for the dish | 25g |
| whole nutmegfor grating | 1 |
| lemon zest (optional) | 1 strip |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
| jam or stewed fruit (optional) | to serve |
Set the oven to 150C/130C fan. Take a shallow baking dish, something ceramic and roughly 1.5 litres in capacity, and rub it all over the inside with a good knob of butter. Be generous. The butter matters both for flavour and for keeping the edges from catching during the long, slow bake.
Scatter the rice into the buttered dish in an even layer. Sprinkle the sugar over the top and add the pinch of salt. Pour the milk in slowly, right to the edges, and give the rice a gentle stir with your finger to settle it. Drop in the strip of lemon zest if you're using it. It's subtle, but it lifts the whole thing.
Cut the remaining butter into small pieces and dot them across the surface. Now take the nutmeg and grate it generously over the top. More than feels sensible. A rice pudding without enough nutmeg is a sad thing, and the skin is where most of that flavour will end up, so don't hold back.
Slide the dish carefully into the oven and leave it alone. No stirring. No interfering. After about an hour, the milk will begin to thicken and the first hints of a skin will show. After two hours, the skin should be setting up properly, turning from pale cream to a freckled, golden brown. The pudding is ready when the skin is deep gold and wrinkled at the edges, and the rice beneath feels soft and yielding when you press a spoon through. This usually takes two and a half hours, sometimes a bit more. Trust your nose and your eyes. It should smell of warm milk and nutmeg and something slightly toasted.
Take the dish from the oven and let it sit on the side for five minutes. The pudding will seem a bit loose at first and will firm up as it rests. Fish out the lemon zest if you used it. Serve it straight from the dish, making sure everyone gets a piece of the skin. A spoonful of jam on the side, if you like, or some stewed fruit. But honestly, it's complete as it is.
1 serving (about 300g)
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