ROBIN WRITES: Fruitcake Time
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When Thanksgiving is over and the refrigerator is full of foil-wrapped food, my thoughts turn to what I’ve been craving all year.
It’s time to order my fruitcake.
Yes. I love fruitcake, that holiday treat that has been maligned and scorned for decades. I’m proud to say it, and happy to give it the praise it deserves.
In all the world, there is no cake better than a good fruitcake. And that’s where the problem lies. For every single well-made fruitcake, there are dozens of dry, mass-produced bricks of dreck that should never be eaten by a living being.
A good fruitcake needs to be heavy. Heavy enough to make you just know it isn’t good for you. When you pick it up, the tendons of your wrist should bulge. There is genuine bang for your buck with a quality fruitcake.
Next, your fruitcake should be deep brown all the way through. The color should remind you of a football. And if there is a slight dimpling to the surface of the cake, like that football, that just means it is filled with lots of goodies.
Now, you need to look at the decorations on the top of the fruitcake. Traditionally, there will be pecans laying around the edge like tiny, ribby tombstones. And between each tombstone, you should see a sticky cherry half in neon red or green.
When you purchase your fruitcake (making sure to double-bag it to account for its weight) and schlep it home, you can just plop it in the fridge or on the counter.
Like your favorite tipsy uncle, it has an armor that keeps it safe despite its precarious fragility. The best fruitcakes have enough alcohol cooked inside to render it immune to immediate spoilage.
You’ll need a long, sharp knife to cut through a well-made fruitcake. There are obstacles inside there, mixed into the thick texture of the cake. Your knife will encounter bits of nuts and hunks of gummy cherries.
By the time you saw to the bottom of the loaf or ring, your mouth will be watering, your knife will be caked with brown globs, and your fruitcake will almost seem to swell to fill the empty place your cut made.
Looking at the slab on your plate will show you a topography of all the things that make it delicious as well as the challenge for your teeth. This will not be a heavenly, angel-food-fluffy, nibbling, experience.
Fruitcake is an adventure into the deepest depths of ingestion. It is a slog through dark, complicated land only a brave few dare travel. And when you’ve finished your serving, you will know you are at the limit of your gastronomical endurance.
But you’ll be back for more. The magic of a good fruitcake is how it can call to you, over and over, even when virtue tells you that you should repent for your gluttony. When your scale reflects the transfer of weight from the cake to your own heft.
I’ve read that fruitcake will last up to 1 month in a cool, dark pantry, 6 months in the refrigerator, and 12 months in a freezer. But who are they kidding? My fruitcake is never around that long.
I eat my fruitcake quickly, to get rid of it. It isn’t good for me, and I don’t need the temptation laying around. But since I only buy it once a year, I tell myself I deserve to have it. I will continue to love it and tell the world how wonderful it is.
Find yourself a good fruitcake. Dig in with a sturdy fork..
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■ Robin is a freelance columnist who lives and writes in Quincy, Illinois. Contact her at [email protected].
