How to turn old sourdough into a classic pudding – recipe | Waste not

A slightly stale loaf of sourdough isn't a problem — it's an opportunity. As spring settles in and the kitchen mood shifts toward lighter warmth, there's something quietly satisfying about saving a dense, slightly sour piece of bread from the trash and turning it into something deeply comforting. Bread pudding is one of the oldest acts of kitchen thrift in British cooking, and sourdough, with its open texture and complex tang, makes it better than any other loaf could.

The acidity of sourdough fermentation does something remarkable when combined with warm custard and a long, gentle bake: it softens into a rich, almost caramel-like depth that plain white bread simply can't offer. This recipe works with sourdough that's two, three, even four days old—the drier, the better, as stale bread absorbs the custard more readily without turning to mush. A straightforward technique, a handful of pantry staples, and about an hour and a half of your time: that's all it takes to create a golden, trembling pudding worth every slice.

Suitable for: Vegetarian

Ingredients

• 400 g stale sourdough (white or wholegrain, crust on), cut into 2–3 cm slices
• 500 ml whole milk
• 200 ml heavy cream
• 4 large free-range eggs
• 80 g golden caster sugar, plus 1 tbsp for the top
• 1 tsp vanilla extract or ½ vanilla pod, scraped
• 1 tsp ground cinnamon
• ¼ tsp freshly grated nutmeg
• 60 g unsalted butter, softened
• 80 g raisins or sultanas, soaked in warm water for 10 min and drained
• Zest of 1 unwaxed lemon
• A pinch of fine sea salt

Equipment

• Large baking dish (approximately 28 × 20 cm), well-buttered
• Medium saucepan
• Large mixing bowl
• Whisk
• Serrated bread knife
• Fine-mesh sieve
• Roasting tin large enough to hold the baking dish (for the bain-marie)
• Kettle

Preparation

1. Prepare and butter the bread

Set your oven to 320 °F / 350 °F. Start by spreading a generous layer of softened butter on both sides of each slice of sourdough—don't skimp here, as the fat protects the exposed bread edges from drying out during the bake and contributes to the golden, lacquered crust that forms on top. The crust of the sourdough is worth keeping: it holds its shape against the custard and provides a slight chew in every bite. Lay the buttered slices overlapping in your prepared baking dish at a slight angle, like a deck of cards leaning together, tucking the drained raisins and the lemon zest between the layers as you go. The slight sourness of the sourdough will balance the sweetness of the fruit; together they create something more interesting than either alone.

2. Make the custard base

Combine the milk and cream in a medium saucepan over a low heat. Warm gently until steaming—that is, hot to the touch but not yet simmering—then remove from the heat. The goal is to temper the eggs without scrambling them. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt until the mixture is pale and slightly thickened, about 2 minutes of steady whisking. Then, very slowly, pour the warm milk and cream into the egg mixture in a thin, steady stream, whisking constantly. This process is called tempering: the gradual introduction of heat prevents the proteins in the egg from seizing up into curds. Once fully combined, pass the custard through a fine-mesh sieve into a jug to remove any stray threads of egg and ensure a perfectly smooth, silky liquid.

3. Soak the bread—and take your time

Pour the custard evenly over the layered bread, making sure every slice is covered. Press the top layer down gently with the back of a spoon or your clean hand, encouraging the bread to absorb the liquid rather than float above it. Let rest for at least 30 minutes at room temperature—longer is better, up to an hour. The resting stage matters: stale sourdough is dense and will only fully absorb the custard if given enough time. You'll see the slices start to swell and soften, the custard level dropping visibly as the bread drinks it in. Scatter the tablespoon of caster sugar across the surface just before it goes into the oven; it will form a fine, crackling crust as it bakes.

4. Bake in a bain-marie

Place the baking dish inside a larger roasting tin. Pour boiling water from a kettle into the roasting tin until it reaches halfway up the sides of the baking dish. This setup is a bain-marie, or water bath: the surrounding water moderates the oven temperature around the pudding, ensuring a gentle, even heat that sets the custard as a soft, trembling mass rather than a tight, rubbery one. Carefully transfer the arrangement to the oven and bake for 40–45 minutes, until the top is deep golden brown and the custard is just set—it should still carry a slight wobble at the very center when you nudge the dish. A skewer inserted an inch from the edge should come out clean. Remove from the water bath and let rest for 10 minutes before serving; the residual heat will finish the job quietly.

My chef's tip

For the most flavorful result, use sourdough that is at least two days old and, if possible, sourced from a loaf with a high hydration—the kind with a deeply blistered crust and an irregular, open texture. That open structure drinks custard like a sponge. In spring, a sharp rhubarb compote spooned alongside cuts through the richness in a way that cream alone cannot: simply simmer 300 g of trimmed rhubarb with 2 tablespoons of sugar and the juice of half an orange for 8–10 minutes until collapsed. For a more indulgent version, replace 50 ml of the milk with a splash of whiskey or dark rum stirred directly into the custard before pouring.

Drinks and pairings

The pudding carries a caramelized sweetness and a gentle acidity from the sourdough, so the ideal accompaniment should either echo that warmth or provide a clean, bright contrast.

A light late-harvest Riesling from Alsace or the Mosel—with its honeyed apricot notes and bracing mineral finish—plays beautifully against the vanilla custard and the tang of the bread. A sweeter, more accessible option would be a glass of chilled Sauternes or a domestic dessert wine made from Muscat grapes. For those skipping alcohol, a pot of lightly brewed Darjeeling first flush tea, served without milk, brings a floral astringency that lifts every mouthful.

The story behind bread pudding

Bread pudding has been part of British kitchens since at least the 13th century, born not from creativity but from necessity: in a time when bread was precious and waste was a moral failing, soaking stale scraps in whatever liquid was available—water, milk, ale—and baking them into something edible was simply what households did. The dish appears in Tudor recipe books, in Victorian penny cookbooks aimed at the urban poor, and in wartime Ministry of Food pamphlets urging housewives to waste nothing. It has always been a recipe of circumstance, and that's precisely what gives it its character.

The modern version, enriched with eggs, cream and sugar, is closer to the French pain perdu tradition than to its humble origins, but the logic is identical. Using sourdough rather than a supermarket sandwich loaf is itself a return to form: for most of bread pudding's history, the bread available was naturally leavened. The sourness was never a flaw—it was the point. Contemporary bakers have rediscovered this, and sourdough bread pudding now appears on the menus of some of Britain's most respected restaurants, presented as an exercise in intelligent cooking rather than frugality.

Nutritional values (per portion, approximate values)

Frequently asked questions