On the fruitcake

We all know that the fruitcake is a much-maligned food, the butt of many jokes, due to its somewhat clunky heft and remarkably long shelf-like. Many opine that it does not resemble a cake so much as a brick or bowling ball. But how many of these jokesters have ever partaken of this classic Christmas treat? I've had many fruitcake-based conversations lately, and am amazed to find how many people (many of them in their fifties!) snort at my mention of this as one of my favorite annual traditions and then confess that they, themselves, have never tried it.

Well, as they used to say about something or another, a billion Chinese can't be wrong. Of course, that has nothing to do with fruitcake, and besides, a billion Chinese can very well be wrong, thank you very much. My point is, the fruitcake has not survived a MILLENNIUM--you heard right--for no reason. Let me tell you a little something about the history of the fruitcake.

The Noble Fruitcake

Fruitcake is a heavy, rich cake made with candied fruit and nuts. It may or may not contain liquor. Today, there are almost as many different recipes as there are different families, and they can vary quite widely. The earliest recipe for fruitcake dates back to Ancient Rome, although in a somewhat different form (more seeds than nuts, and very little fruit). The candied fruit and now-traditional nuts became standard in the late Middle Ages, and the fruitcake took on a form closer to what we see today. Crusaders and hunters used to take fruitcake along with them to sustain them on long journeys far from home.

That alone is enough to make it kind of cool. I mean, it's a tradition dating back many hundreds of years, linking us to our Old World ancestors. And it's been associated with Christmas for about 300 years, since a law in Europe banned fruitcakes except at Christmas, Easter, and a few other holidays. (They were deemed "sinfully rich.")

The laws, of course, eventually relaxed. A Victorian tea would not have been complete without a fruitcake. According to one source, "Queen Victoria is said to have waited a year to eat a fruitcake she received for her birthday because she felt it showed restraint, moderation and good taste. "

In 1913, the travelling Ringling Bros. Circus came through Corsicana, Texas, where they partook of the fruitcake at the Collin Street Bakery. The Circus Folk were so smitten with the cake, they ordered several to be sent to their friends at Christmastime, and the mail-order-gift fruitcake tradition began. The Collin Street Bakery is still selling fruitcakes all over the world, and is considered the be-all and end-all of purchased fruitcakes. (They are available year-round, and go for $20-$50 each.)

In all seriousness, fruitcake has been an important part of my family's Christmas traditions for as long as I can remember. My grandmother made it every year until recently, when my mother has taken over the responsibility. When I was a kid, it was reserved for adults, because it was assumed (rightly, I'm sure) that a child's unsophisticated palate wouldn't appreciate it. In our teens, my sisters and I bravely took a taste, and found that we loved it. My dad was saddened--less for him.

It's definitely not like your average cake. For one thing, it's extremely dense and not particularly soft or "cakey." In fact, there's really only enough cake batter there to keep the fruit and nuts from falling apart. In addition, it does weigh rather a lot, and actually improves with age, like a cheese (my grandmother's recipe has a note at the bottom saying the cake should sit a week before eating).

This year, for the first time, I made my very own. I haven't tasted it yet (waiting a week!), but it looks pretty in its foil, and I am proud to say that on our ordinary scale, it clocks in at a solid 6.5 lbs! I had to get out my biggest--mammoth--bowl, and had to have N-Or (gotta come up with a better name than that!) help pour the batter into the pan, because it was so heavy. But the experience was absolutely delightful--I felt linked to my mother, grandmother, and female ancestors across centuries and continents. So even if my first effort doesn't taste as good as Grandma's, I feel proud to have made it. And you're all invited to come over and have a slice. No lame jokes, please.