Let me ask you something—have you ever had rice pudding? I mean the real kind: creamy, cinnamon-kissed, gently sweetened rice pudding that feels like a warm hug from the inside out. For me, this dish is more than just dessert—it’s a memory, a tradition, a little piece of home.
I practically grew up on rice pudding. It wasn’t something we made all the time at home, but we had a family friend—one of those honorary aunties everyone seems to have—who brought it to every gathering like clockwork. As a kid, I’d walk into her house, and the first thing I’d do was scan the table to see if her big glass dish of rice pudding had made an appearance. And if she knew I was coming, she’d always make sure it was there. That kind of thoughtfulness stuck with me. To this day, rice pudding still makes me feel loved.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I loved it so much. Maybe it was the creamy texture, soft and comforting, or maybe it was the way the cinnamon would swirl through the milk like a warm whisper of spice. For me, cinnamon was always the magic ingredient—it gave the whole thing soul. Even now, I tend to go a little heavy-handed with the cinnamon. I just can’t help myself. If there’s one spice I could never live without, it’s cinnamon. It’s my jam. Always.
For a long time, I assumed rice pudding was a Mediterranean or Middle Eastern specialty. It just felt like something from that part of the world—maybe because of the spices, or maybe because it always felt both exotic and familiar at the same time. But when I started digging a little deeper, I realized I was only seeing one small corner of a much bigger picture. Nearly every region of the world has its own version of rice pudding. In some places, they cook it with lemon zest or orange blossom water. Others might fold in cherries, raisins, or toasted nuts. Some use coconut milk, some use cardamom or cloves, and others serve it with jam or a dollop of fresh cream. It’s amazing how one simple idea—rice simmered in milk—can take on so many beautiful forms.
As someone who’s always looking for ways to make classic dishes a little more accessible (and a little more guilt-free), I decided it was time to try a dairy-free version of my beloved childhood favorite. And after months of saying I’d get around to it, I finally did. The result? A creamy, dreamy bowl of comfort that tastes just like the original, with a wholesome twist.
For the milk, I used Almond Breeze Original Almondmilk—it adds a subtle nuttiness that pairs beautifully with the cinnamon. And instead of white rice, I opted for brown rice, which gives it a slightly chewy texture and a lovely nutty flavor. Plus, using brown rice makes me feel like I can go in for a second helping without a shred of guilt. (And trust me, you will want seconds.)
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