This special holiday column will address a very particular holiday food item.
An item which some may argue just barely graduates into the food category at all. Like a bad student with a “D” report card who smirks as he shows it to you and says, “I may not be good – but I still made it!” So it is with the holiday fruitcake, which narrowly makes it into the “edible” category.As someone who is not squeamish about food and will try just about anything from all cuisines or cultures (so long as it’s not moving or crying out before it hits my mouth) the one thing that makes me shiver – makes my lips pucker and my eyes widen with fear is… FRUITCAKE!
Oh sure, the name sounds nice enough – fruitcake – a cake made with fruit. Simple, right? Yes.
Simple evil.
?rel=0&controls=0&showinfo=0"Let’s start with the fruit part. The fruit in fruitcake is not the fruit we know and love. The plump, moist pieces of say a delectable papaya, cherry or pineapple won’t be found here. The fruits in a traditional holiday fruitcake are “candied”; a process by which the fruit is rendered into tiny highly crystallized pieces, offering a concentrated sugary transformation so sweet that if bitten into by a tooth with a less than perfect filling – one will see shooting stars whilst hopping around on one foot.
And what’s with candied fruit? Really? Who “candies” anything anymore? What are you Martha Washington? Everybody’s worried about gluten these days – how about the sugar content in this thing? Diabetic coma, anyone? I can only guess why this “candied” business is done. To presumably enhance (?) the overall unpleasant taste of the fruitcake? Maybe. But alas, it is an exercise in fruitility. It still tastes like punishment.
However the nefarious bakers of fruitcake, undaunted, continued their sinister recipes to hopefully gain fans. “How about adding alcohol?” they asked. “Surely alcohol can mask anything and make it at least somewhat desirable, right? Just ask anyone on a mediocre first date.”
True. Alcohol will mask a multitude of sins, yet remarkably, even though most fruitcakes are soaked in some sort of alcohol – usually rum – they still fall short of anyone exclaiming, “Mmm...I could sure go for a piece of that fruitcake! Looks so good and not disgusting at all covered with all those fossilized fruit bits on top. And how I love a cake almost the color of tar.”
My point is: When even soaking an item in alcohol cannot make anyone long for it– then Houston, we have a problem.
And how old is this thing?
Another anomaly of the fruitcake is its otherworldly life span. Why does the longevity of a fruitcake rival that of Egyptian mummification? Call me a connoisseur, but the thought of eating something that could live in a museum shelf – doesn’t make my mouth water.
According to People.com, there is a family in Michigan that keeps a fruitcake that was baked in 1878 as a family heirloom. Heirloom? I can see it now. “Son, your mother and I are leaving all our cash and houses to charity – but you – you will inherit (wipes away a tear) the fruitcake.”
And why does a fruitcake weigh so much?
One of the Great Mysteries of the Universe. How can a loaf-sized food item be nearly the weight of a semi-tracker trailer? Don’t know. Just don’t know.
And for the Love of St. Heinous, what are those indiscernible green things mixed in with the crystal meth fruit?
I actually had to look this one up. The answers I found were equally repellent. Those green things are either (1) green maraschino cherries. Euw. Even the dimmest among us know that that’s not the right color for a maraschino cherry. Maraschinos are supposed to be red. Lovely little things sitting atop ice cream sundaes. They should not be the color of toxic waste.
Or (2) Watermelon rinds that have been processed and dyed green. Wait. What? That takes repulsive to a whole new level. When do watermelon rinds even pass through your consciousness as an appropriate food item? Interestingly, both green horrors are almost impossible to digest. No, really?
I don’t know about you – but I’m not ever eating another piece of fruitcake again in my life. I did it once – just once - that was enough. I had to join a support group afterwards.
So should any of you be “lucky” enough to receive one of these heavy sugary, green-spotted little mothers for the holidays –I’ve come up with some useful ways to repurpose them. Since fruitcakes have the shelf life of plutonium, all the repurposed items should wear well – well into the next century and beyond.
Five Ways to Repurpose Fruitcakes
1.Turn them into exercise weights – These bitches weigh a ton. Use them as dumbbells and pump it, burn it – but whatever you do, don’t eat it!
2. Make lamps out of them. What could be more eclectic than an electric fruitcake lamp? Turn on your fruitcake lamp and maybe read a recipe that might taste good and not have the potetial of altering your DNA.
3. Use them as door stops. Hello. Heavy and long lasting. Mission accomplished. Watch you don’t bang your toe on the fruitcake though. Hurts.
4. Threaten your children with them. Tell them, “If you little shits don’t behave, I’m going to make you eat some fruitcake!” Instant angels.
5. Wear them as holiday Hats. Why not? Lady Gaga already paved the way for culinary couture with her Meat Dress. Proudly wear your baked millinery on your capper. If someone asks you, “Is that a fruitcake on your head?” Say, “Why yes, it’s a Louis Fruiton.”
(Check out the Fruitcake Zone video above for more ways to repurpose)
Finally, here’s the $64,000 question: Why do they keep making these things? Nobody that I know likes fruitcake. Is somebody being blackmailed into making them? (“Keep making these or the banana cream pie gets it!”)
I have never EVER seen anybody sitting down with a cup of coffee and enjoying a piece of fruitcake and yet each year they are cranked out by the thousands. One thing I did enjoy about a fruitcake though was writing this. I feel that perhaps bringing some holiday whimsy and mirth to this oddity of (alleged) edibles – my efforts were not fruitless. Ha.
Happy Holidays!
And that’s the View from this Cakey Broad.
Anna Collins is a writer, photographer, and digital filmmaker.
