Cinnamon Raisin Bread Pudding

Okay, let me just say this up front: I did not grow up eating “bread pudding.” It always sounded a little suspicious to me. Bread? In pudding? I thought it was one of those weird recipes only old-timey folks made when they had no choice. Like war-time cooking or something.

But then I had some.

Not the dry kind. Not the weird cafeteria kind. I mean the real deal — warm, cinnamon-spiced, full of buttery custard and plumped-up raisins that tasted like they’d been soaking in someone’s happy thoughts. With a glaze poured on top that made it all stick together like a good family hug.

Now? I keep stale bread on purpose just to make this.

So… Why You Should Absolutely Make This

  • It makes your whole house smell like you meant to be baking.

  • It’s soft in the middle, golden on the top, and absolutely swimming in cozy.

  • You can prep it ahead. Like, way ahead. (I’ve even done the whole thing the night before.)

  • It’s cheap. Like, weirdly cheap for how good it tastes.

  • It serves 12, but honestly… I’ve seen it feed 3 on a rough Sunday. No shame.

Ingredients, or “What You Probably Already Have”

Let’s be honest. Most of this is stuff you’ve probably got hanging around. Except maybe the challah — but even that’s easy to swap.

For the pudding:

  • 1 loaf of stale challah, cubed — Brioche is great too. I’ve even used hot dog buns in a pinch.

  • 5 eggs — Don’t stress if one’s a little small.

  • 2 cups whole milk

  • 2 cups heavy cream — Or use all milk. But cream makes it dreamy.

  • 1 tbsp vanilla extract — More if you’re heavy-handed like me.

  • ½ cup white sugar — Not too sweet.

  • 1 tbsp cinnamon — Okay fine, maybe a bit more.

  • 1 cup raisins

  • 1 cup water

  • 2 tbsp butter

  • 1 tsp cinnamon (again, for the raisin part)

For the glaze:

  • 1 cup powdered sugar

  • 1 tsp vanilla

  • 2 tbsp milk (plus a splash more if needed)

  • ½ tsp cinnamon — Optional, but it ties it all together.

Alright, Let’s Do This

1. First, make the house smell good

Preheat your oven to 350°F and grease up a 9×13 baking dish. Butter or spray, your call.

2. Give those raisins some love

In a little saucepan, toss in the raisins, water, butter, and a bit of cinnamon. Bring it to a gentle boil. Let it bubble away for a couple minutes ’til the raisins plump up and start looking like they’ve had a spa day. Remove from the heat and just let them hang out.

3. Whisk the good stuff

In a big bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, cream, vanilla, sugar, and that full tablespoon of cinnamon. Toss in the whole raisin mixture — liquid and all. That cinnamon water is liquid gold.

4. Add the bread and be patient

Dump in your cubed bread. Gently stir until everything’s coated. Let it sit for 10–15 minutes so it soaks up all that creamy goodness. You can even walk away for a bit. No rush.

5. Time to bake

Pour it all into your prepared dish, cover with foil, and bake for 50 minutes. Then remove the foil and bake another 10–15 minutes until the top is golden brown and just a little crispy around the edges.

Your kitchen should smell amazing by now. Like cinnamon, sugar, and warm memories.

Don’t Skip the Glaze (Seriously)

While the pudding’s cooling just a little, whisk together the powdered sugar, milk, vanilla, and cinnamon in a bowl. If it’s too thick, add a splash more milk. Too runny? Add a bit more sugar.

Then pour it right over the warm bread pudding. Let it drizzle down into all those little cracks and crevices like a cozy blanket.

Eat it warm. Eat it cold. Eat it standing in front of the fridge with a fork. You’ve earned it.

Wanna Make It Your Own?

You don’t need my permission, but here’s a few ideas:

  • Add chopped apples or pears. Works great in fall.

  • Toss in some chopped walnuts or pecans for crunch.

  • Skip the raisins and use chocolate chips. (Yes, it’s dessert then.)

  • Splash of bourbon in the custard or glaze. Do I need to explain?

Sunshine Salad