It started with the bananas.
Too ripe. Too many. Piling up like a to-do list I was avoiding.
I wasn’t planning to make pudding.
But there was a chill in the kitchen and a comfort I couldn’t name tugging at me—something about soft food and big bowls and the sound a whisk makes when it’s tired but trying.
Martha’s Banana Pudding recipe had been tucked into my old recipe file for years. I’d printed it once, back when Mae still called vanilla wafers “circles” and asked if pudding was supposed to jiggle.
I hadn’t made it then.
I made it now.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness does not mess around here.
The base is homemade: sugar, egg yolks, cornstarch, milk, and a chopped banana cooked right into the custard. It thickens on the stove, gets strained until silky, then mellowed with butter and vanilla.
She layers it like she means it—cookies, then bananas, then pudding, then whipped cream. Repeat. End in cream.
Top with crushed wafers if you’re fancy.
Or just hungry.
What I Did Differently
I used whole milk but didn’t measure it quite right.
The bananas were riper than she’d probably prefer—one had a bruise the size of a thumbprint memory.
I skipped the sieve.
Not out of rebellion. I just didn’t want to wash another dish. The pudding was still smooth.
And I let Mae do the layering. She made it crooked. I left it that way.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
The pudding thickened slowly. I stirred like my life depended on it, even though nothing did.
The bananas smelled like childhood and guilt.
I remembered my mother slicing them straight into a Tupperware bowl, layering with boxed mix and Cool Whip.
This one was richer. Slower. But still hers, somehow.
Mae dipped her finger in the whipped cream, called it “the good kind.”
We stacked the layers between sips of coffee. Talked about nothing. Laughed when the wafers slipped sideways.
When it was done, I pressed plastic to the top and tucked it into the fridge.
It felt like tucking something else in too.
A Few Things I Learned
You don’t need perfect bananas.
Or perfect memories.
You just need something soft, sweet, and a little messy to remind you that comfort doesn’t need to be complicated.
What I Did With the Extras
We ate it straight from the bowl with serving spoons.
Left the whipped cream smudged on the fridge handle.
Mae said, “This should be our new birthday cake.”
I didn’t disagree.
Would I Make It Again?
Yes. On purpose next time.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The bananas darkened a little overnight.
So did the mood.
But the pudding stayed sweet.
The Bit I Skipped (And Didn’t Regret)
I didn’t strain it.
Martha says to, but my custard felt fine—and honestly, I didn’t want to lose even one drop of banana flavor to a sieve.
The texture was perfect in that not-quite-perfect way I like.
Soft but sturdy. Like a memory you revisit carefully.
FAQs
Of course. But this one? It hits different. You’ll taste the patience.
Nope. Any deep bowl will do. We used an old mixing bowl with a chip in the rim.
You should. It needs a few hours to set. We made ours the night before and it was magic by morning.
Layer what you’ve got. Add extra cookies if needed. No one’s counting slices.
It’s sweet, but balanced. The cream mellows it. And if your bananas are overly ripe, maybe skip a spoon of sugar. Or don’t.
Check out More Recipes
- Martha Stewart Strawberry Cake
- Martha Stewart Sugar Cookies
- Martha Stewart Cranberry Sauce
- Martha Stewart French Onion Soup
Martha Stewart Banana Pudding
Description
Soft, golden, and layered with the kind of love you don’t talk about out loud.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Make the Custard Base: Whisk the sugar, yolks, cornstarch, and salt in a saucepan. Add the milk and the chopped banana. Heat gently, stir constantly, until it thickens and bubbles. Let it cook another minute so it knows you care.
- Add Butter and Vanilla: Take it off the heat. Stir in butter until it disappears. Add vanilla. Breathe. It should smell like old kitchens and quiet afternoons.
- Cool It Down: Pour into a bowl. Cover with plastic pressed directly onto the surface. Refrigerate until it sighs into stillness—about 2 hours.
- Whip the Cream: Beat the cream with the confectioners’ sugar until firm peaks form. Taste it. Smile.
- Assemble the Layers: Spoon a little pudding into the bottom of your bowl. Add a layer of cookies. Then bananas. Then more pudding. Then whipped cream. Repeat until you run out or can’t stop snacking.
- Chill Again: Refrigerate at least 4 hours, or overnight if you’re patient. Crush a few extra cookies on top before serving. Or not.