I’ve been on a bit of a tomato bender. Of course there’s the tomato sandwiches and bruschetta (a friend strongly encouraged me to try goat cheese instead of the fresh mozzarella, so that’s next on The Tomato Agenda). A couple nights ago I made stuffed baked tomatoes over creamy polenta. I thought it dreamy, but no one else did, phooey on them. Then last night I made tomato bread pudding.

Now this pudding, I’ve written about before. I’m not one to re-post recipes—ever—but today I am making an exception. Rather then go back to the original recipe and add in my changes like I usually do, this time I’m presenting you with the entire tomato bread pudding experience all over again. You won’t resent me if I force you to luxuriate in cheesy, garlicky, sausage-y, bready, tomato-y goodness, will you? Right. I didn’t think so.

After that supper, flavor fireworks still going off in my mouth, I informed my husband that if I ever open a restaurant, tomato bread pudding will be on the menu. I’m not planning to open a restaurant any time soon, nor do I ever even entertain such thoughts, but never mind that. If I do open a restaurant, I will serve tomato bread pudding. In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, maybe I should open a little cafe that sells only tomato bread pudding and red wine. Wouldn’t that be quaint?

Tomato Bread Pudding with Caramelized Onions and Sausage 

Changes I made this time around: I tossed in a pound of browned sausage, two caramelized onions, and instead of the fancy seasoning mix that I don’t have, I added a bunch of spices willy-nilly.

The recipe sounds complicated, but most of the components (toasted bread, browned sausage, caramelized onions, roasted tomatoes and garlic) can be made ahead of time. Even the egg custard can be whisked together and then stored in the fridge until assembly.

Also, what with the eggs, sausage, and bread, this is basically a breakfast casserole, you realize. Just saying….

6 cups of cubed rustic sourdough bread (roughly one pound)
2/3 cup olive oil, more or less
3 pounds Roma tomatoes, topped and sliced in half
½ teaspoon each oregano, basil, thyme, rosemary, fennel, sage, salt, black pepper
1 head garlic
2 cups grated Gruyere cheese
½ cup grated fresh Parmesan
8 eggs, beaten
2 cups milk
1 cup heavy whipping cream
2 teaspoons salt
½ teaspoon pepper
1 pound breakfast sausage, browned
2 large onions, sliced thin and caramelized

Toss the bread cubes with 1/3 cup of olive oil. Bake at 375 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes, stirring occasionally, or until golden brown and toasty. Set aside.

Toss the Roma tomatoes with the spices (the ½ teaspoon list) and a couple tablespoons of olive oil. Place the tomatoes on a sided baking sheet, cut sides up. Cut the top off the head of garlic, place the head cut side up on a piece of foil, drizzle it with olive oil, wrap it up tightly, and nestle it in among the tomatoes. Bake the tomatoes and garlic at 375 degrees for one hour. When the garlic is cool enough to handle, squeeze the soft pulp out of the papery husks and into a bowl. Mash the pulp with a fork to get rid of lumps. Set aside the tomatoes and garlic pulp.

Beat the eggs in a large bowl. Add the garlic pulp, milk, cream, cheeses, 2 teaspoons salt, and ½ teaspoon black pepper.

Tumble the toasted bread cubes into a greased 9 x 13 baking dish. Spread the caramelized onions and browned sausage on top. Pour over the egg-cream mixture. Arrange the roasted tomatoes on top.

Bake the pudding at 375 degrees for 40-50 minutes or until the custard has set up and the pudding is puffy and golden brown.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (8.10.15), the Murch collision of 2015, the quotidian (8.11.14), the quotidian (8.12.13), goodbye, getting my halo on, there’s that, sanitation and me, sweet pickles, and orange mint tea.

I’ve been feeling scattered.
Slightly overwhelmed.
Discombobulated.
Stressed.
Unhinged.

I have reasons! Mostly: summer.

Summer is our Living Expansively time (as opposed to the school year where I chain the kids to the kitchen table and forbid all forms of socialization). It’s when I relax my hold on imposed structure and say yes to all sorts of fun stuff. Just pile it on, is my mantra. Eventually, I kind of fall apart.

The most recent reasons for my current state of distraction are as follows:

We loved having our little Fresh Air boy again this year. (We had hoped to have the girl back, too, but her family missed the paperwork deadline.) He’s sweet as a peach, easy-going and eager to try new things.

We did fun stuff, hence more go-go-go activity which contributed to my I’m-on-a-merry-go-round feeling. There was the Frontier Culture Museum, the pool, the river, church, shopping, playing at other people’s houses, etc. But the activity he desired most? Legos.

In anticipation of his arrival, we moved the whole Lego bin downstairs and set up a Lego Station. ‘Twas a smart move. The kid was in there every chance he got.

Last week I had three extra kids under my roof for a couple days and then, one night, the numbers ballooned to a total of ten, topping out at eleven the following morning at breakfast when the neighbor kid joined the masses for breakfast.

The neighbor kid was super excited about the pancakes. “I’ve never had homemade pancakes before!” he chortled.

“Mom, he doesn’t know how to cut them,” my younger daughter whispered to me. “He keeps stabbing them with a fork.”

“Then cut them for him,” I said.

Kids like him, I’d happily feed all day long. (You’d think my kids would’ve learned that by now—act excited and Mom will up her Yummy Food Game—but no. Sometimes they’re downright dumb.)

As Neighbor Boy ate, sluggish kids kept emerging from all corners of the property: the tent, the downstairs room, the bedrooms, the clubhouse. Neighbor Boy’s eyes about popped. It was like a circus clown car.

The night before, the kids had entertained themselves with a potato gun, homemade ice cream, a dance party, and fireballs. Also, there was an (unapproved and immediately-squelched) activity involving an aerosol can of hairspray and matches. It’s a fact: put teen boys in a group and they shed IQ points at an alarming rate.

At the peak of crazy, I called my mom.

“All the kids have friends. Why don’t you and Dad come keep John and me company?”

We sat around the table and observed the chaos while eating our homemade ice cream with flopped chocolate zucchini cake, chocolate sauce, and strawberries.

After having his license for just two weeks, my son has now been taken out of the driving mix, thanks to that eye surgery.

It’s only for a week or two, but oh my, is it ever an inconvenience. How quickly I acclimated to having a third driver in the house! Now we’re once again playing Schedule Contortionist, juggling drop-offs and pick-ups, work schedules, and mealtimes. It’s like we’re back in the Dark Ages.

Will you hate me if I show you his eye? No? Awesome.

Because I think it is so cool.

Our fall schedule is taking (intimidating) shape.

Thus far, I have three kids in choir, a son in a theater production, two sons (and me) who want to take tap, and a daughter who is requesting not one but two—two!—ballet classes. I’m reluctant to fund all these enrichment classes, so the kids need jobs. In other words, their jobs will be just one more thing for me to work into our schedule.

I’m not sure how much activity I can handle before I (and the rest of the family) get hurt.

Once I figure out the details—line things up all tidy—my stress levels will go down. But until then, I feel like I’m gearing up for a high-speed race that is destined to end in a wipe out.

Unless I say no to everything. No is always an option…

This same time, years previous: cheesy herb pizza, corn crepecakes, the quotidian (8.6.12), why I am recuperating, dishes at midnight, and quiche.