Paradise Inc., in Plant City, Fla., is the nation’s largest producer of candied fruit and peels.

JANE S. writes:

This is the season when my mother and I undertake our annual ritual of producing one of the most hated things on earth: fruitcake. If you’ve ever looked at that luridly colored candied fruit in the stores and wondered “who buys that stuff?”—it’s us. The only time I have ever had a supermarket clerk make wisecracks about my groceries, it was when I was buying ingredients to make fruitcake. Fruitcake-hatred is passed down as a family tradition. People are taught to hate it even if they’ve never tried it.

Fruitcake is so ancient, its origins are unclear. There are stories that the Egyptians and Sumerians packed it away in tombs for people to enjoy in the next world. Roman soldiers are said to have carried fruitcake on military campaigns and medieval knights took fruitcake along on Crusades. One wonders how something so hated has managed to survive for such a long time.

Johnny Carson had a standing joke that there is really only one fruitcake in the world that people keep passing around. In a 1990 episode of the Tonight Show, he “hired a demolition crew to destroy it once and for all. They tried to drag it in chains behind a pickup truck. Railroaders beat it with pickaxes and sledge hammers. A karate master smashed it with his forehead (and lost his head); but the fruitcake remained victorious.”

Some people point to the fact that restaurants never have fruitcake on the menu as proof of its undesirability. Columnist Calvin Trillin claimed that no one has ever purchased a fruitcake for themselves. Fruitcakes supposedly make ideal gifts because the postal service can’t find a way to damage them. Airlines have banned fruitcake from planes because their density makes them difficult to identify using x-ray equipment.

People call fruitcake “a curse,” “evil,” “nasty crap” and “dangerous.” Fruitcake has inspired songs like “Fruitcake Makes Me Puke.” Fruitcake has found its way into slang as a name for a crazy person.

There are websites with creative ways to repurpose unwanted fruitcakes (“Build a retaining wall.” “Give it to the cat for a scratching post.” “Throw it at police instead of bricks during violent protests.”) There are sites to help you make up your own fruitcake jokes.

Just hating fruitcake isn’t enough for some people; they have to do something about it. Every year in January, around 500 fruitcake haters converge in Manitou Springs, Colorado, for the annual Great Fruitcake Toss. Fruitcakes are hurled by hand; they are launched by bow and arrow, slingshots, trebuchets, potato guns, cannons and water balloons. The record for the farthest-flung fruitcake is 1,420 feet, set by a group of engineers who fired it from a mock artillery piece. Other events include a Fruitcake Derby, a Fruitcake Art Show, a Fruitcake Relay, the Ugliest Fruitcake, Fruitcake Football, and the Farthest Traveled Fruitcake. If you want to take part in the competitions but weren’t unlucky enough to get a fruitcake for Christmas, you can rent one for a dollar from the Chamber of Commerce.

The most common complaint about fruitcake is that it is too dry. It helps to put a pan of water in the oven while it bakes. As the end of the baking time approaches, test the cake with a cake pick and take it out as soon as it is done. You can also keep a fruitcake moist by wrapping it in cheesecloth soaked in liquor (sherry, brandy, bourbon, etc.), then covering it in waxed paper. Rewrap with freshly soaked cheesecloth as needed. I think the optimal time for ripening a fruitcake is six weeks.

I don’t mind if people hate fruitcake. It means I don’t have to share. But there is one thing that mystifies me: the recipe for plum pudding is almost identical to fruitcake. It’s also more labor-intensive and requires specialized equipment. But you never hear about people hating on plum pudding.

Here is our family recipe for fruitcake that we got from a neighbor many years ago. It takes an afternoon of chopping but it is not difficult to make. It yields two moist and sumptuous fruitcakes that make it easy to understand why the ancients thought fruitcake was something you wanted to take with you to the afterlife. This fruitcake has traveled all the way to friends in India, where they apparently don’t have fruitcake jokes, and they loved it. Even fruitcake skeptics like this fruitcake. They probably won’t start making their own, though, that takes nerves of steel. You have to be able to stare down those store clerks.

Iola’s Fruit Cake

Start by mixing one cup of flour with:

2/3 cup golden raisins
2 cups cut-up dates (1 pound)
2 cups mixed candied fruit
1 cup chopped nuts

Combine:

1 cup oil
1-1/2 cups sugar
1/4 cup molasses
4 eggs
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoons nutmeg
1 cup orange juice

Then stir in the fruit/nut mixture. Pour into loaf pans lined with greased wax paper. Bake at 275 degrees for 2-1/2 to 3 hours with a pan of water in the oven.

Enjoy!

— Comments —

Sage McLaughlin writes:

Far be it from me to present a contender to Jane S.’s family recipe for fruitcake, which no doubt is better than anything found under cellophane.  But as she herself says, homemade fruitcake is not an undertaking for the delicate or the feint of heart–it requires a real woman with mud on her toes.

So I hope that she will not mind too much if I point your readers to an excellent alternative: the Monastery Fruitcake of Holy Cross Abbey.  The Trappists at Holy Cross support themselves, in large part, on the production of honey products and sweets, and when I was young my family would order one of their fruitcakes every year, a tradition my wife has generously acceded to continue.

At any rate, it’s a suggestion.  I can’t promise that anybody will enjoy it as much I, but as Jane so rightly observes, there are a million people who hate fruitcake for what they think it is, and precious few who hate it for what it really is.  Much like the Church herself.

Buck writes:

I’ll never understand this. I love fruitcake. I mean, I love fruit cake. My mother has been gifting me fruitcake for years. I spent a week with her in Myrtle Beach S.C., just a few weeks ago. I stop each way at J-R Cigar, Selma NC, which is a huge cigar store (walls, doors, windows) inside a huge general store somewhat like a backwoods WalMart; pork rinds, hunting gear, clothes, log furniture, everything. It’s a hoot to visit. I always buy an arm full of Claxton Fruit Cakes. One pounders of pure joy.

Mom is coming this way for the holidays. About a week ago I finished off my last Claxton and called her for more. She’s bringing me twenty. Twenty pounds should last me about forty days. Oddly, Claxton will sell direct to me, but they charge more than double the price at J-R.

I cut the logs, right through the cellophane (Sage), into half-inch slabs, which I quarter. I can then simply stand it up on end rather than having to wrap it. When I’m driving to and from mom’s, I peel back the end and eat one like a banana. Add a side of whole cashews and I’m good to go.

Many years ago (she no longer can), around Thanksgiving, mom would begin the creation of next year’s fruitcake. Made in a round tin (hole in middle), she would open it monthly or so and pour on Rum or something similar. After twelve months? To die for.

So, I’m the guy. Unabashedly. Send them to me, every sadly orphaned fruitcake.

Buck adds:

This hurts. At the Fruitcake Toss link, it’s a Claxton. I’d know that bundle of joy anywhere. Don’t fruitcakes have rights too? Please support DOFC legislation.

Kristor writes:

We got a fruitcake once for Christmas, just before we moved from one house to another. Late on our first night in the new house, with boxes everywhere, my wife and I realized we were ravenous. There was no food in the house, except for the fruitcake. We popped it open: it was covered with green slime. Clearly it had been passed from one family to another for many, many years. Appalled, we stared at it for a few moments in horrified silence. Then, I intoned, “The fruitcake must always move.” We howled in laughter as I ceremoniously deposited it in the trash – the outside trash, that is.

Wedding cakes used to be fruitcakes. The symbolism is obvious. I found this out at a traditional wedding, where they served fruitcake. The flour was white (no molasses) and sturdy, rather like pound cake (lots of butter?); not heavy or dense, but moist, and not too sweet. Rather than candied fruit they had used normal dried fruit – apricots, raisins, cranberries, and cherries. There were lots of different kinds of nuts. It was frosted with a clear glaze that had been prepared with lots of brandy. It was heavenly. I had always despised the overcooked, wooden fruitcake I had sampled, but I had about four pieces of that one. It was an old time recipe, from the 18th century.

After that experience, my mother started baking a fruitcake every Christmas, of the same type we had enjoyed at that wedding.

 Laura writes:

The problem with fruitcake is the candied fruit that’s made in factories. Sorry, Buck, but that stuff is disgusting. It doesn’t taste like fruit. In fact, I believe it is made from recycled tires colored green, red, and yellow. Just look at those men in the photo. Can you imagine what it’s like to spend all day stirring that stuff? They should assign that work to prisoners. Maybe they do.

We made a delicious Italian version of fruitcake last year that’s similar to Panettone but much better. It is not soaked in alcohol.

Buck writes:

No question about it. That candied fruit repulses many people. I won’t eat it alone. But, Claxtons have a good many nuts, which is key. I eat handfuls of nuts everyday, have for many years. The nuts offset the cloying sweet fruit. That’s why I like a side of cashews. A very hoppy India Pale Ale or a good sipping whiskey cuts the sweetness very well too. As does straight tonic water.

 Laura writes:

I get it. If you eat fruitcake with things that mask the flavor, it’s okay.

 Jane writes:

The men in the photo have somewhat grim expressions on their faces, don’t they? They don’t look like they’re having fun. It’s probably hard to tell people you work in a fruitcake factory. Almost as bad as telling people you like fruitcake.

 Buck writes:

I imagine that anyone can think of hundreds of pairings; foods and drinks that compliment, rather than mask each other. Real men aren’t afraid to like fruitcake openly. I imagine also, that most hard working people, like those in the photo, don’t always whistle while they work, or have a pointless smile stuck on their faces as they labor. That might make them look to be idiots.

 Bruce B. writes:

I love fruitcake, plum pudding (I make it with dates) and mincemeat pie. I make all three at Christmas and usually end up eating it all myself as my wife and children won’t touch them.

 Laura writes:

That’s interesting. My father was the only one in our house who liked fruitcake, which his mother made every year.

 Sally writes:

My grandmother died two years ago approximately three weeks shy of her 94th birthday. She made a delicious fruitcake. It differed from most fruitcakes I have eaten in that the cake had a white base instead of being flavored with molasses and rum. It tasted wonderful. The flavor was of primarily the fruit and nuts without overpowering the palate with liquor.

My grandmother made fruitcakes as a holiday tradition for 72 years. My mother helped her for the last year or two at the very end of her life. I’m in awe as I think of that cake being produced by a young woman, a matron in mid-life, and an elderly woman. The fruitcake was made year after year after year. So many changes occurred to her, our family, the country, but yet the cake kept being made and distributed. How many of us will do anything consecutively for 72 years? I don’t suppose many of us will but it’s a great reminder that even the small things in life are important and have value.

Paul writes:

My grandmother’s fruitcakes, made from scratch, were delicious. My mother learned from grandmother. But our fallen nature allows us to think such delights will go on forever, until they don’t. I might find a recipe among the stuff I have saved.

At least I have my great-grandmother’s handwritten recipe for chocolate (peanut butter) fudge and have many times helped to make the best chocolate fudge ever. I have never tasted fudge that equals it. It is difficult. My mother’s family and neighbors would cry for her to make it at Thanksgiving and Christmas. There are a number of critical steps, but there are two supercritical steps. The first is building the temperature up just right using a thermometer. The second is beating the large pot with the spatula until it is just about to begin hardening. Then it is poured into a large flat pan. If it does not harden precisely (that is, not soft or flaky-hard), it gets put to the side for fun and the dog, and you start over. My little mother could beat as well as me. Incredible considering my size and strength. My father or I usually helped because it requires a large pot and a lot of beating with the spatula at the critical moment. But Ma could do it alone.

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