A Bread Pudding Worthy of a Party.

I rarely even think about food these days (I seem to have returned to my art school habits of running on fuel comprised of coffee, painting, and music). I don't daydream of desserts or breakfast, or intricate candlelit suppers. I do not spend much time at all on the Internet lately.

I am hungry instead for inspiration. For autumn's burnished light and shadow. Rusted jewel colors and texture. Pattern. And rhythm. I am walking the local woods and creeks, listening, breathing in. Fed by the foggy morning softness and water sounds, and leafy, wet wood smoke. Gathering images and emotions for markmaking and paint slinging. Food- for better or worse (I'm not a judger)- is simply not on my radar these days.

But this weekend I woke with a curiously strong hankering for old fashioned pumpkin bread pudding. And gluten-free goodness ensued.

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