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Pamela Pérez | The Long Table's avatar

Reading this, I'm back in my mother's kitchen in Chile, where stale bread never died — it was soaked, squeezed dry, and worked into fish croquettes, the crumb turning silky inside a crisp shell. Nothing was ever thrown away. She'd also turn it into colegiales — "schoolchildren" — a sweet pudding studded with raisins.

What I love about day-old bread is that it stops resisting. Fresh bread holds its shape, proud and intact — but stale bread surrenders, drinking in the custard, the broth, the tomato juices until it becomes something entirely new.

Olivia Weiss's avatar

I need to make this strata!! There’s something to be said for garlicky homemade croutons, and having an on the brink loaf to dedicate to such a cause is a GIFT

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