Bread pudding is the perfect bridge from autumn to winter

I am incapable of throwing anything away in the kitchen. In my fridge, there must be at least half a dozen pots of bits and bobs, dishes of leftovers and scraps. In my freezer, a bag of parmesan rinds has filled slowly, each intended to be chucked into a pot of soup or stew to bring savoury depth, and there’s even an optimistic box of pea pods that I’m convinced I will one day turn into a stock to make an authentic risi e bisi.

All await a future transformation, some kitchen wizardry that will rescue something that is a little past its best. Although I confess I sometimes find myself buying a bunch of ingredients just to use up something I’ve squirrelled away, or plain forgotten about and left a touch too long. But I think it’s a cook’s instinct to try to save produce, and there is a true satisfaction (and economy) in repurposing what would otherwise end up in the bin.

Many of our most beloved British puddings have been borne out of this waste-not-want-not mentality: rice pudding uses up an excess of milk, while posset turns tired cream into a beautiful citrusy, zingy set custard, and treacle tart requires stale breadcrumbs. Queen of puddings uses up both breadcrumbs and milk, making them go further with a layer of jam and another of meringue. And apple charlotte and summer pudding both use slices of stale bread for structure and to soak up the flavour of the fruity filling. Rather a lot of these puddings use stale bread, actually, which I suppose is unsurprising when we consider quite how much of a staple bread has been in Britain, and how quickly it stales.

Bread pudding is the perfect bridge from autumn to winter, tasting almost Christmassy

Necessity is the mother of invention – and it’s hard to think of a better rebirth than stale heels of bread turned into something sweet and fragrant and, as is the nature of puddings, slightly celebratory.