If I say, “pudding bar,” what do you envision?

I know exactly what I mean, but things often make more sense in my own head than they do for other people. My idea was a bunch of pudding, followed by a smorgasbord of toppings — but a pudding bar could just as easily be a cookie or brownie crust layered with pudding and garnished with caramel sauce or chocolate chips.

In fact, we could take the ambiguous pudding bar title much farther. If we were British, then any dessert would fall under the category of pudding; hence, any type of square cookie (or I guess biscuit, as they say) could qualify, or it could be a tableful of any sweet courses, custardy or otherwise.

Those are the ideas that make sense. But if we enter the fanciful, things could get really interesting. You’ve heard of sandbars, but I would love to get my canoe stuck on a pudding bar. Crowbars are far more effective at prying things open, yet I suggest that pudding bars would be far more delicious. I hear the bar exams are torturous, but the pudding bar exams? Mm, those are tantalizing.

A pudding bar could be where puddings, alcoholic or not, are on tap — imagine kegs of vanilla, chocolate and pistachio, ready to be dispensed per customer’s order. I would totally perch on a stool at the bar to sit and savor my pudding shots late into the night. The only hangover would be a bit of a sugar rush and crash.

It could even be a joke (kind of like what this column is turning into): “So a pudding, a custard and a creme anglaise walked into a bar ...”

As delightful as most of those ideas are, the pudding bar that started all this was pretty wonderful as well. Although I’ve never much considered all forms of bars before, I’ve long been honest about my attachment to almost all forms of puddings. I have many love languages, and one of them is definitely pudding. Cold, hot, homemade, boxed — I like it. I eat my chocolate tofu blender pudding literally a couple of times every week.

(After my discussion of British puddings, however, I should specify that I mean the smooth, sweet, spoonable variety. “Pudding” still means way more than we are getting into today, such as those Yorkshire bready things, blood sausages or rich, creamy rice.)

But while I know my eyes light up at the mere mention of pudding, I don’t expect that to be the case for everyone. Clearly it’s not a universal response, yet I’m also clearly not a total anomaly: True delight sparked on people’s faces last week when I served the aforementioned pudding bar. Pudding feels almost like a childish dessert, but perhaps that’s why it sparks such childlike glee.

A giant bowl or vat of vanilla pudding might have been enough to evoke delight on its own, but serving it with a deluge of add-ons upped the fun. Almost anything dessert-adjacent might work to top pudding; I like something nutty, chocolatey, fruity, saucy and, of course, whipped-cream-y.

I know that version of a pudding bar is a winner, so now it’s just time to try the others ...

Honey Vanilla Pudding

A pudding bar has to begin with a good pudding, of course! Start here; go anywhere. Someone was just amazed that you can make homemade pudding, and honestly, it’s as easy to make from scratch as it is to go to the store and buy a box. Every time I make it, I wonder why I don’t make it every other day; we gobbled it up with or without toppings and figured out it works marvelously as a topping itself over chocolate cake.

Prep tips: This makes a bit more than a quart, so feel free to multiply the batch as necessary to make more; just don’t make less or you will be sad. Toppings shown in the picture are frozen blueberries, toasted almonds, cacao nibs, salty maple pumpkin sauce and whipped cream.

• 4 cups whole milk
• ½-⅔ cup local honey
• 1 egg and 2 egg yolks
• ⅓ cup cornstarch
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 tablespoons vanilla
• 1 ounce butter

Heat about half of the milk to almost boiling. Meanwhile, blend the remaining milk, sugar, eggs, cornstarch, and salt; whisk into the hot milk, cooking and stirring until thick. Remove from heat and add vanilla and butter. Chill fully before serving.

Lettuce Eat Local is a weekly local foods column by Amanda Miller, who lives in rural Reno County on the family dairy farm with her husband and three small children. She seeks to help build connections through food with her community, the earth, and the God who created it all. Send feedback and recipe ideas to hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.