Chocolate Bread Pudding

If you’ve been following me for any amount of time you probably know I live in Texas. I’m not a Texan, mind you, but I live here. It might seem trivial to distinguish the two, but Texas natives are very very particular about this fact. It’s, by far, the most heritage proud state I’ve ever been in. Bumper stickers proudly proclaiming “Native Texan” are quite popular around these parts and it’s more insulting to outsiders yet also equally popular cousin “I wasn’t born in Texas but I got here as soon as I could” is prevalent as well.

People in Texas love their Texas.

But if you are a follower you probably also know that I am not a native. I am a Maryland girl–born and bred. Raised in the rural countryside outside of Baltimore, I am still as much of a Marylander as I am a Texan. I love me some steamed crabs and think Old Bay is the most underrated seasoning on the planet. I love our state flag despite the fact that most non-Marylanders think it is the ugliest thing they have ever seen. I have nightmares about the Bay Bridge but also memories of “going down the ocean” that no one else outside of our small state can relate to. I am a Marylander at heart. 

But what you might not know, because I’m pretty sure I haven’t talked about it a ton, is that there were quite a few stops between Maryland and Texas, especially in my early 20’s. For years I lived like a nomad, moving states as quickly as I changed my hair (you can learn all about those fun adventures here). First because wanderlust got me and the lights of the big city were a sirens song to my heart but then because once I met Jeff and we set up the Dawson family, his career took us all over–moving up the corporate ladder via many moves.

My moving trajectory looks a little like this: Maryland –> New York City –> Atlanta –> California –> Texas –> ??

Personally, I don’t think much of this history. It’s natural to me. I am pretty sure that somewhere in my DNA is a traveler gene. I look at all of these places and see how they molded me, how each contributed to a distinct aspect of my personality. From Maryland I get my country roots and a very strange pronunciation of the word “orange.” From New York I get a lightning fast walk, a no nonsense bluntness and a sense of individual style. From Atlanta I get the softening of my hard edges and a lesson on how to be a lady. From California I get my more casual side, a calmer pace to life and a definite aversion to washing my hair. And from Texas, well, from Texas I get a “howdy” approach to everyone, an openness to strangers, a faith in humanity and sense of community.

I’m so grateful for these places and the things they taught me.

But if I’m being really honest here, I see something else in the nomad moves of my past that I didn’t quite understand until now. Moving for me was a way to enforce change when getting comfortable started to feel uncomfortable. Moving in such a drastic way was my way of keeping life momentum going, a virtual upheaval against stagnation. It was, to me, much like others turn to shopping. Or new cars. Or even drugs or alcohol. Moving was a way to scratch an itch I couldn’t identify and, as a side effect, build up a barrier to the messiness of close relationships. 

It was a way to keep discomfort at bay. It was my answer to the yucky-ness of life and stagnation. That place where we all go “this is it? this is adulthood? what a jip.” The run, flee and hide instinct I have honed over the years helps me avoid those questions, that stagnation. It’s not boring if you’re always moving, right?

The only reason I know this now is because we’re at this point in our lives where my trigger finger is itching again. Life has been a little messy lately–nothing terrible but hard stuff with the kids and life in general–and I am feeling the urge to change. To cut and run. That old instinct is back and calling, “Run, Meaghan. Run. Gather your people, don’t forget the dog, and burn the ships on the way out.”

Y’all, this is is not healthy.

To be fair, we’ve been here in Texas for nine years now–the longest stint I’ve had in my adult years. And we’ve established great friendships, have an amazing church family and the kids are set and holding in their peer groups and recreational activities. I’m grateful for all of these and on one hand can’t imagine cutting and running.

But on the other, I see that grass over there. And it looks so green. Y’all. The houses are cleaner. The people are unknown and strange, but that never bothers me. It’s new. And new trumps uncomfortable any day.

This is what I’ve learned, though. You cannot outrun yourself. We all know this is true. Wherever you go, there you are (someone famous once said this, I’m sure of it). And along with you comes the clutter and the baggage you carry. The grass only remains green if you keep it that way and life is going to be uncomfortable on the other side too if you don’t fix the messiness of the space you occupy first.

Digging in deep and putting down roots is healthy. It’s messy. It can get really uncomfortable, people struggle and sometimes it sucks. But unless you get comfortable with yourself, no matter what the zip code, what happens in Maryland will follow you to California and take up residence in Texas, right next door. 

I know now that my trigger finger needs to calm the heck down. I am grounded enough to figure out, finally at the ripe old age of 40, that sticking it out and working on your own stuff is the only way to go. Moving is fine, but it’s got to be for the right reasons. It’s not fight or flight, this life. It’s connecting and loving and working, through the hard and yucky stuff if necessary, so that if you do move for whatever reason the grass is green where you’re headed and where you left. 

Friends, life is hard sometimes. Your escape might not be mine. You might not have a moving company on speed dial and zillow loaded up on your phone with a million saved searches. But you might escape into a job that consumes so much of your mind that your heart doesn’t have time to beat the right way. Or you might escape to busy-ness and productivity. Or striving. Your escape doesn’t have to be bad–it’s not always addiction or sinful. But it’s an escape nonetheless. And escapes, when used incorrectly and too often, can keep us from the good stuff, the hard stuff yes, but the good stuff just the same.

So no matter how uncomfortable life is, no matter how much I want to reinvent myself in greener pastures, I’m holding off. My trigger is paused, for the near future, and my heart is engaged in the hard stuff. It’s engaged in working through trouble with middle school. It’s engaged in friendship and connecting with people through their hard seasons. It’s engaged in working on growing some amazing things with Grit and Grace , Beautycounter and BurntToast. It’s most of all engaged in the messy stuff of trusting God with my story, all of it, no matter what zip code or what circumstance I’m running from or to. 

Let me tell you, without that simple grounding, the unshakable faith in a God who has absolutely got this–even the tough stuff–I would be packed and ready to flee. Most likely, I would already be gone, taking my family and running. But God, He’s good like that. He’s steadied my hand and settled my heart. Taking fear of the messy and replacing it with faith in his goodness.

And with that trust tucked deep in my heart I know now that if we move, if we make a change, it will always be for the right reasons. It will not be running, it will be adjusting based on faith. And in both big and small things, that’s how I want to approach the rest of my life. 

Faith based and open to the future, no matter where it is.

And so today because it happens to be Valentines Day (which we all know I love so very much–read here) I want to share a decadent dessert meant for celebrations, love and, well, your sweetie. It’s a take on my Old Fashioned Bread Pudding Recipe (here) but richer with the addition of chocolate to add depth and flavor to take this dessert to the next level. I’ve made this multiple times for my family and each time my kids beg for more. It’s a perfect use of leftover bread and makes my depression-era grandmother up in heaven happy that I’m wasting not and wanting not down here on earth. 

Peace, love and putting down roots,

Meg

Chocolate Bread Pudding

May 26, 2020

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By: Meaghan Dawson

Ingredients

• 8 pieces of leftover crusty bread, cubed. (I used French but challah or ciabatta would work as well)
• 2 cups half and half
• 2 eggs
• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup cocoa
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• pinch of salt
• 1 teaspoon vanilla

Directions

• Step 1 Preheat oven to 350.
• Step 2 Grease an 8×8 casserole dish with lots of butter.
• Step 3 Place cubed bread in buttered casserole dish.
• Step 4 Whisk eggs in a small bowl and set aside.
• Step 5 Mix sugar, cocoa, cinnamon and salt in separate bowl and set aside.
• Step 6 Put half and half in a small pan and warm slightly over medium heat.
• Step 7 When the milk is warmed (just slightly skimmed) add the sugar mixture, stirring to combine.
• Step 8 By the tablespoon, temper the eggs. (whisking to gradually warm and prevent curdling).
• Step 9 Once eggs are warmed, add gently into the half and half mixture. Stir well to combine.
• Step 10 Pour mixture over bread, tossing with a spoon to make sure each cube of bread is coated well.
• Step 11 Bake for 30-45 minutes or until set.
• Step 12 Serve warm with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.

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