I Brake for Fruitcakes

A good fruitcake makes my mouth water. Every Christmas our family partook of some pretty decent fruitcakes, and I have been hooked ever since. Although during those "formative" years I never experienced a truly homemade fruitcake, apparently the quality of the "bought" cakes far surpassed what we might find in a supermarket today.

My father set the example of fruitcake appreciation for us. He would always talk about how delicious his mother's homemade fruitcakes had been. Every year. We would be snacking on whatever fruitcake my mother had bought for that Christmas, and my father would always reminisce about Grandmother's fruitcakes. To lay this ghost to rest, I think, my mother decided one year to have Grandmother come over to our new house and recreate that famous fruitcake. Interestingly, Grandmother had never baked fruitcakes in my personal memory!! My father brought Grandmother over one afternoon, supplied her with all the necessary ingredients, and my mother opened up the kitchen for the big event. We gathered at a respectful distance to watch.

Grandmother, of course, came from the generation that didn't really use written recipes. She filled the mixing bowl with an assortment of ingredients, and mixed and stirred and mixed and stirred until the batter met her requirements. I don't remember what size pan she used, but she successfully transferred the batter into the pan and plopped it in the oven.

To complete the process, after the cake baked, it was time to soak it in wine. My family didn't drink, so my father had to buy something suitable at the local grocery store. (No state-controlled liquor stores for that good Baptist deacon!) He had brought home a bottle of Manischewitz grape wine. I know. But Manischewitz would have to do.

We faithfully bathed the fruitcake in the wine over the course of a few weeks and kept it in a covered container. Finally Christmas arrived and Christmas dinner was on the table. Grandmother always ate these feasts with us, too. When the meal had been cleared away, my mother brought out The Fruitcake. My father took up his knife with eager anticipation and sliced the cake. We waited until everyone had a piece of The Fruitcake on our plates. Then we took our first bites.

My reaction? This was a very good fruitcake, lots better than any previous ones we had consumed.

My father's reaction? Alas, another case of something recreated in the present that didn't measure up to what he remembered. He ate the slice, but he was so disappointed. "It doesn't taste like the ones you used to make," he said sadly.

My grandmother's reaction? She just laughed and ate her slice of cake. She never baked another fruitcake.

The remaining Manischewitz wine? We gave it to my Uncle Jeff, since "he drank". (He had an occasional beer--he was my father's brother-in-law. Can't imagine what he thought about the Manischewitz!)

When I moved from Virginia to Chicago with my little family in 1981, I discovered that hardly anyone I met looked forward to having fruitcakes at Christmas. I was alone in a world empty of good fruitcakes. Yet as my circle of friends widened, kindred spirits rose up and I embraced a little circle of fruitcake fans. I even began to make my own fruitcakes! (By this time my dear grandmother had died, so I couldn't compare notes.)

Each year I would produce a batch of cakes in early November and lovingly wrap them in wine-soaked cheesecloth before storing them. I would send a fruitcake or two to my parents, save one for me, and share the rest with my 'fruitcake club' in Chicago. Yummy years! Gradually, however, my parents no longer could eat the fruitcakes and the impetus to put all that effort into the preparation began to dwindle. After we moved to Indiana, I felt like I was back in that desert again.

Monday of this week I set forth on a quest to find a handmade, traditional fruitcake in a town east of here. I needed to find the Next Door Neighbor Bakery in Middlebury, Indiana. Success! After I left the toll road and found the correct country road, I drove along until I spotted a simple sign that said "Bakery 1 Mile Ahead", with a little added sign below promising "Fruitcakes". Aha! This bakery, operated by the family on whose land it sits, offers some tasty baked goods, and also features "Fruitcakes by Deb" (the farmer's wife). I nabbed a lovely traditional fruitcake and headed back to South Bend, promising myself that I wouldn't taste the cake until today.

You may imagine my anticipation at Christmas Dinner this afternoon. Turkey and all the trimmings provided a very filling meal, but The Fruitcake rested in splendor on its serving plate and beckoned us all. Finally, I took out my knife and prepared a slice. This cake overflowed with fruits and nuts, with nary a piece of candied citron or bright green cherry. I was pleasantly impressed with the whole thing. I couldn't detect any soaking in liquor, so that disappointed a bit, but overall this was a very good fruitcake. Was I satisfied? Yes, indeed. Will I buy another next year? Absolutely!

In the course of this quest, I have discovered at least one local friend who also appreciates a good fruitcake. So I just might resume my fruitcake factory next year, too. Things are looking up! Grandmother would get a good chuckle out of all this.