Let Me Tell You About My Apple Bread Pudding Obsession

So, picture this: blustery autumn Saturday, clouds mooching around the garden, and me rooting in the bread bin for breakfast ideas when I spot half a loaf, teetering on the edge of its best-by date. My first thought is, “Not again,” (because stale bread does this a lot to me). My second thought? Apple bread pudding, just like my mum used to cobble together—not fancy in the least, but it’s the sort of pudding that hugs you back, if you know what I mean. Actually, once I even brought this to a potluck and someone guessed it was from a bakery… had to laugh. But honestly, mine’s sometimes a bit rustic. Adds to the charm, right?

Why You’ll Love This (Or, Reasons My Family Does)

I make this apple bread pudding when I’ve got spare apples rolling around (usually Gala or Granny Smith, though one time it was Pink Lady and that got a bit… lively); or when someone’s gobbled just the middles out of a baguette and left me with the ends. My lot goes nuts for it because the smell hits them from down the hall—warm, cinnamony, toasty. And listen, it’s easy (unless my oven decides to go rogue, which does happen). Plus, it sort of works as breakfast or dessert—double duty.

My Go-To Ingredients (I Swap Stuff All The Time)

6-8 slices stale bread (brioche is lovely, but I’ve used supermarket white, crusts and all. My gran swore by Hovis, though I’ve grabbed whatever was handy.)
3 small to medium apples, cored & chopped (peeling’s optional—I can’t be fussed some days)
2 tablespoons butter, melted (salted or unsalted, honestly—I sometimes forget and use whatever’s on hand)
1/2 cup sugar (brown gives you more of that ‘autumn’ thing, but white works or even a bit of honey if you’re feeling posh)
3 eggs
1 1/2 cups milk (full fat’s delicious, but I’ve uesd oat milk and nobody blinked)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon cinnamon (plus a pinch of nutmeg if you’ve got it; or leave it and add extra cinnamon, no one’s checking)
A handful of raisins or sultanas (optional, and some rogue family members pick them out anyway)
A small pinch of salt

Here’s How I Throw It Together (More or Less)

Preheat your oven to 180°C/350°F. Grease a casserole dish—anything around 8-inch square works, though I’ve used a lasagne dish in a pinch.
Layer your chopped bread and apples into the dish. Sometimes I toss in the raisins here, but sometimes I forget and scatter at the end (no drama).
Whisk eggs and sugar in a big bowl until sort of frothy—don’t stress just swirl it up. Add milk, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and stir.
Pour this magical mix over the bread and apples. Give it a bit of a press down with a fork so everything soaks (this is where I usually sneak a taste of the soggy bread; can’t help it).
Drizzle with your melted butter. Pop in the oven, uncovered. Bake about 40-45 minutes—look for puffed-up, golden edges, and a middle that just shakes, not sloshes. Don’t worry if it looks a bit weird partway through, kind of like a bread swamp, it sorts itself out.
Let it cool for 5-10 minutes. Try to wait so you don’t scorch your tongue (I always forget and regret it!).

Tried and True Notes (And a Couple I Wish I’d Known)

If you swap in too many apples, it goes a bit wet—learned that the sticky way.
If you’re short on eggs, 2 will do but the pudding’s a bit more dense; still good, though.
The crusty bread bits on top become the best part (I used to think they were too dry, but now I fight for them!).

Some Variations I’ve Experimented With

Adding a handful of pecans or walnuts—ace, especially for crunch.
I tried chocolate chips once… honestly, a bit much with apple, but if you’re an “everything’s better with chocolate” person, go for broke.
Swap out apples for pears if that’s what’s rolling around—just slice thinner.
One time I tried adding orange zest for ‘spark,’ but it clashed with the cinnamon. Won’t do that again!

What If You Don’t Have All the Equipment?

If you haven’t got a whisk, just use a fork. If your dish is too small, a deep roasting pan works (though you’ll get extra crispy bits around the edge—never a bad thing). Haven’t got a measuring jug? A mug is roughly 250ml (give or take).

How to Store It (For the Four People Who Ever Get Leftovers)

Cool it right down, then cover with clingfilm or just an upside-down plate (done that in a rush). Fridge for up to three days; microwave slices for 30 seconds to revive them. Though honestly, in my house it never lasts more than a day! If it does dry out, a splash of hot custard fixes everything.

Serving It Up: The Family Way (With Options!)

My favourite way? Warm pudding and a massive splash of cold pouring cream. My sister goes all-in with vanilla ice cream (here’s a dead easy one). Or, in a real Sunday roast sort of mood, drown it in hot homemade custard (I like this Delia recipe). We’ve been known to have it for breakfast, too. No shame.

If I Could Tell You Only One Pro Tip

Don’t rush the soak time. I once hurried it and had dry bread – like the Sahara. Let it sit for ten-ish minutes before baking if you can. (Actually, if you forget, pouring on an extra glug of milk before baking somehow helps.)

Just a Few FAQs Folks Have Actually Asked Me

Can I make this with gluten-free bread? Yes! It’s a bit softer, so go easy when mixing. Tastes just fine (maybe even better, if you’re into that texture).
Can I prep it the night before? For sure. Cover it and pop in the fridge—just bake off in the morning. I think the flavours get that extra cosiness overnight.
Can you freeze apple bread pudding? I’ve done it once or twice; actually, the texture’s ok when you defrost gently. Wrap slices tightly. But, fresh is still top notch.
I don’t like raisins. Am I doomed? Nope. Just leave ‘em out, or swap with chopped dates or dried cranberries. Or nothing. You do you.
What do I do if my pudding turns out soggy? Hm, probably too much milk or too many apples. Next time: cut back a splash, and it’ll be bang on.

If you want a seriously deep dive on similar puddings (and some fun UK classics), Great British Chefs has loads to browse. Sometimes I just look for ideas and end up making toast, though.

P.S. If you make this and it’s not perfect, you’re in good company. Somehow, the not-quite-right ones get eaten first.