Fruitcake, Anyone?
Is it just a joke or can you make one that actually tastes good?
“There’s only one fruitcake in the entire world and people keep passing it around.”
The joke from late night show talk show host Johnny Carson shows up in almost every Google search for fruitcake. And there are more. The most loved or loathed Christmas staple has long been as the butt of humor on the page, stage and screen.
Though versions of the fruitcake have been traced back to Rome and supposedly even to Egyptian tombs, the pastry most Americans think of as a classic fruitcake is so densely packed with candied citrus and cherries, dried fruit, pineapple, and nuts, and so laced with booze that it is sometimes thought to be indestructible and perfect for gifting to relatives and friends, your boy in the army (or mine in Japan!), who might just stick it on the pantry shelf and forget about it.
Hence, the prevalence of humor about using fruitcake as a doorstop, a catapult, reindeer fodder—or simply re-gifting it the following Christmas. Below is one of my favorite fruitcake cartoons taken from a set of Christmas cards illustrated by artist/writer Edward Gorey.
But all this fruitcake scoffing got me wondering: Was it possible to make a fruitcake that folks who turn their nose up at it might actually want to eat? In other words, can you make a fruitcake that’s delicious? I definitely think you can.
Taking on the Fruitcake Challenge
Now I’m a Jewish girl who grew up celebrating Hanukkah where ne’er a fruitcake appeared to compete with the potato latkes, blue sugar-topped cookies and almond macaroons. But I did have a Scottish mom who made a lot of dense pound cakes filled with raisins and candied ginger (no booze though!).
Fruitcake didn’t seem such a far reach, except for a key ingredient in some of the classic versions: that strange, brightly colored candied citrus peel that’s often the deal killer when it comes to fruitcake. It’s got a bittersweet taste and slightly leathery texture that some find hard to swallow (literally!).
In other years, I’ve seen plastic cartons of these little jewel-toned fruit bits near the produce aisle at most local supermarkets, but this year there were none to be found. Perhaps it’s a supply problem—very common in these Covid times. Or possibly the grocery stockers had decided there’s no point in filling shelves with an ingredient specific to a cake that few people want to make or consume.
I did finally find several packages at my local Gelson’s, an upscale chain of Southern California markets—and there were hardly any left. Apparently someone is making fruitcake—or perhaps stollen, the more bread-like German version of it.
Step 1: I make candied citron
The label on the candied peel containers included several ingredients I’m not keen to add to my baked goods: high fructose corn syrup, malic acid, citric acid, sodium benzoate and potassium sorbate, sulfur dioxide and red, yellow and blue food coloring. Of course, I could simply leave out the candied fruit—or I could try to make my own. How hard could it be?
Honestly, not hard—but fairly time-consuming, as I found out. But, as I said in my last post about babka, I love a culinary challenge. So I decided to make candied citron—specifically candied Buddha’s hand, a type of citron named for its distinct fingerlike appendages.
Making candied orange, lemon or grapefruit peel is roughly the same, but the peeling process is different. Here’s a link to an excellent recipe for this. As the author says, the difference between store-bought and homemade is “mind-blowing.” And you can use the end product in so many recipes—or just eat the sugary peels as a snack! You can even dip strips of it in white or dark chocolate as a special holiday treat!
I followed a different recipe for the Buddha’s hand, but ultimately the process is similar, except, instead of slicing off the skin and leaving the fruit, you chop up the entire “hand,” fingers and all. The recipe I used (click here) offered excellent instructions on how to test for the “thread stage” of candying the citron without a thermometer.
The whole process took the better part of a morning, with the little bits of citron drying on a tray for several hours after that. The syrup left behind is liquid gold—great for mixing into tea, cocktails, or spreading on toast like marmalade!
And now (drum roll, please!) for the main attraction!
I’ve tried a few recipes for fruitcake over the years and hope to try more in the future. But the one I’ve settled on for the last several years is King Arthur Baking’s Everyone’s Favorite Fruitcake.
This recipe is no exception. I believe it’s a favorite because it calls for none of the bitter candied fruits that have caused so many to abhor fruitcake and greet its appearance on the holiday table with the comment that introduces the recipe: “No, no, not the dreaded FRUITCAKE...”
Some notes on the recipe:
If a fruit or nut doesn’t appeal or you don’t have it, you’re free to substitute something else. For example, I’m not crazy about candied cherries and couldn’t find them at the market, so I subbed a mix of dried cherries, brandied cherries and cranberries, keeping tabs on the total weight of the fruit (a kitchen scale does come in handy!).
It takes a lot of chopping to cut all that fruit into small dice. If you want a shortcut, King Arthur does offer a Fruitcake Fruit Blend where the work has already been done for you! No unidentified flying fruits are included.
The recipe makes about two standard 9 x 5 loaves; 6 to 8 medium 3 x 5 loaves; about 16 mini-loaves (about 3 3/4 x 2 1/2); and about 3 dozen muffins.
Seven medium-sized fruitcake loaves. I opted for the medium loaves and ended up with 7. I prefer smaller sizes, so I can share them with friends and neighbors and hope that they’ll like them well enough to eat them rather than going the composting or doorstop route. (It turns out they actually do!)
I soaked the fruit in brandy, but you may prefer rum, whiskey or fruit juice. For a Jewish twist, I was thinking of using Manischewitz in the next batch!
I did use the optional dark cocoa, which turned the dough kind of a muddy brown, but didn’t affect the taste. I may leave it out next time to try to lighten the color.
Unlike the fruitcake pictured at the top of this post (probably similar to those frequently shipped mail order in the early 20th century), my fruitcakes don’t look all that different than loaves of quick bread that I make quite often, but the high proportion of fruit and nuts to batter is part of what make this cake different and bestows that magical keeping power—plus the alcohol! (If you want to order the “real thing,” Collin Street Bakery in Corsicana, Texas has been baking its famed Deluxe Fruitcake since 1896. It’s even copyrighted!)
Dousing the cakes with simple syrup (basically, equal parts water and sugar boiled down a bit), a little liquor or a mixture of both after it emerges from the oven adds to its longevity. Many folks make these loaves weeks or months ahead, but procrastinator that I am, I made them only a few days ago, so they may still be fresh when Christmas arrives!
If you’re not a fruitcake fan—or even if you are—do check out my friend Jolene’s terrific blog. This week it’s all about Christmas cookies, specifically Swedish varieties that can be eaten year-round. I’ll be writing more about this dynamic and talented woman in mid-January. Please subscribe to both her blog and mine to make sure you don’t miss a thing!
I’ve discovered a few fruitcake fans in my neighborhood and farther afield, so I’m going back to the fruitcake drawing board to make some more. And I’m already planning for next year. I ordered a book of fruitcake recipes inspired by a charming story that Truman Capote wrote called A Christmas Memory. It’s about a quest for fruitcake ingredients after a distant cousin, aged 60-plus, announces one November morning to a small 7-year-old boy she calls Buddy—likely Truman himself—that “It’s fruitcake weather!”
It certainly is! Happy baking, happy eating—and Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate the holiday! Please stay safe—and be sure to duck if anyone throws a fruitcake at you! And, whether you love, hate or have no opinion about fruitcake, please let me know in the comments section!
See you next time!
Fabulous! My husband’s annual fruitcake arrived today and this Christmas has arrived 🤶🏻
Oddly, when my grandparents got married in 1927, their wedding cake was fruitcake. Apparently it was a thing, as I’ve found a number of other wedding recaps in newspapers of the day that also mentioned fruitcake.
My Mom mused to make the very best fruitcake. I wish I had saved her résumé. But I didn’t appreciate it. Anyway hers had a lemony taste. It was so good.