This is now continuing in the nuggets of wisdom revealed to me by the Pontiac Indian hood ornament Spirit:
Ahhhh…. This aphorism is not hard to fathom. There simply is no dessert more like crawling into your mothers lap than this butterscotch pudding.
I wish I had some right now. It is burnt, yet sweet. Golden like skin, soft like a boob. Boob is a strange word you use in America for breast yes? I hope.
Always in great zamboni’s travels, I find myself in restaurants with all sorts of strange things: pannacottas, profiteroles, fondant, budino, mousse, and yet always I am longing for the real and simple butterscotch pudding. I must make for myself.
The real, and the simple, is the most comforting, and the hardest to find. Oy! Oi! Buna Zoi!
May the spirits guide you as you try recipe.