Reality is like a fruitcake, pretty enough to look at but all sorts of nasty things lurking just beneath the surface.

A. Lee Martinez

Let’s face it, if 2020 was a cake it would be fruitcake–laden with polarizing ingredients, bathed in alcohol, and hard to digest. And, right when you think you’ve choked down the last bite, another loaf appears around the corner. It’s the gift that you never even wanted that just keeps on giving. While I do understand that not all fruitcakes are created equal, some better than others, it’s the image and lore of the dreaded Christmas fruitcake–you know that perennial weighted loaf that’s regifted year after year, sometimes cycling back to same unlucky gifter–that comes to mind.

Mom used to regift unwanted fruitcakes–not sure who gave them to her in the first place–to the garbage collectors, who I’m sure would’ve much preferred cold hard cash. Those poor men. I’m sure mom wasn’t the only person handing out “well-aged” fruitcake. I think Dad might’ve been the only one who sort of enjoyed fruitcake, or at least didn’t mind nibbling on a small slice if it happened to be laying around, like on a holiday buffet. As a kid, I’d poke out the glazed cherries and leave the other fruits and nuts behind…and that’s only if I was truly jonesing for some sugar and had no other options readily available. There usually wasn’t enough “cake” worth eating.

At least in this country, fruitcake is reserved for Christmas and doesn’t make sneak appearances at other times of the year. In Canada and the U.K. it shows up disguised as wedding cake, wrapped in fondant or marzipan and decorated in royal icing. Aside from the practicality of having a dense, fruitcake preserved in liquor that can sit out at room temperature for weeks and months on end while it’s being dressed with layers upon layers of intricate ornamental sugar work, I’m sure there is symbolic meaning to every component.

The tradition of tucking a piece of wedding cake under the marriage pillow, for instance, wouldn’t work so well with anything other than sturdy fruitcake encrusted in royal icing.

As for saving the top tier of a wedding cake to eat on the first anniversary, it’s probably easier to keep a well-preserved fruit cake boxed in the closet than stashing a foil wrapped buttercream frosted layer cake in your freezer for a year—which by the way is NOT a good idea–though a few of my wedding cake clients have told me their cake tasted surprisingly not bad for something that’d been crammed in the back of their freezer for 12 months.

I did not develop an affinity for fruitcake as an adult, despite having to make some variation of fruitcake for holiday dessert displays over the years. I tried to like the stuff when I was in England, along with traditional Christmas pudding and mincemeat pie. It all sounded so much lovelier and more romantic in literature than it actually tasted in real life…then again that’s the evocative nature of literature. The first time I was seduced by “literary fruitcake” was in high school, reading Truman Capote’s A Christmas Memory:

The black stove, stoked with coal and firewood, glows like a lighted pumpkin. Eggbeaters whirl, spoons spin round in bowls of butter and sugar, vanilla sweetens the air, ginger spices it; melting, nose-tingling odors saturate the kitchen, suffuse the house, drift out to the world puffs of chimney smoke. In four days our work is done. Thirty-one cakes, dampened with whiskey, bask on windowsills and shelves.

Truman Capote, A Christmas Memory (1956)

The part that caught my attention was the bootleg whiskey the protagonist and his friend scraped together bits and bobs to procure. I imagined their fruitcakes practically pickled and preserved in liquor.

Invariably every year around this time beautifully styled images of fruitcake and accompanying recipes circulate food media online and in print, beckoning us to pull out the flour, butter, sugar, eggs, nuts, dried/candied fruits, and liquor of choice and try our hand at baking a loaf. It’s quite an investment of ingredients, especially for those of us who are, at best, still on the fence about fruitcake. I’m one of those people who take a circumspect approach to fruit and nut combinations. It’s a delicate balance of textures and flavors. Too much of one thing and it throws me off. This is why I really don’t like fruitcakes that are so heavy with fruit and nuts there’s barely any cake to bind everything together. I’m also not a fan of nut pieces in cakes that are then soaked in liquor because even if the nuts were toasted they would be soggy after taking a bath in booze. You see what I mean by polarizing?

No surprise, my preferred type of “fruitcake” is essentially the anthesis of the classic variety–lighter in texture with a tender, moist crumb that’s not cloyingly sweet, with fruit that’s boozy but not overpowered by liquor and most importantly, no nuts. It other words, to use Prue Leith’s description, “not stodgy.” I came across a recipe for such a cake on the Apron YouTube channel, called Christmas Fruit Cake. It’s basically a “white fruitcake” that’s subtly flavored with vanilla and orange zest, so the fruit really shines through.

For my version, I replaced the green candied cherries with diced dried pineapple and dark raisins with sultanas (what I had on hand). I also added a touch of almond extract to compliment the rum-soaked fruit. Instead of baking a single large loaf, I decided to split the batter up into 4 mini loaves, which cut the baking time down considerably, from 40 mins. to 24 mins. I pierced the hot loaves all over with a bamboo skewer to help the reserved soaking liquor (mixed with a little fresh squeezed orange juice) penetrate the fruitcake.

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This is most definitely a fruitcake I can devour in one sitting, with a nice cup of tea…or even a hot toddy. At last, a fruitcake that’s truly worth gifting…and I mean to people I actually like!

Christmas Fruit Cake (aka White Fruitcake) – adapted from Apron

Yield: 4 mini loaves or 1 large loaf

• 1/3 c. diced red candied cherries
• 1/3 c. diced dried apricots
• 1/3 c. dark or golden raisins
• 1/3 c. diced dried pineapple
• 100ml spiced rum or brandy
• 1 stick or 4 oz. unsalted butter, softened
• 1/3 c. sugar
• 1/3 t. sea salt
• 2 large eggs, room temperature
• 1/2 t. vanilla extract
• 1/4 t. almond extract
• 150g cake flour, *plus additional 1-2 T. for coating fruit
• 1/2 t. baking powder
• 1 t. orange zest
• 1 T. orange juice

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1. Combine the dried fruit and liquor in microwave safe bowl. Microwave for about 90 secs. on full power to heat. Cover the bowl and let the fruit soak for about 15-20mins. Drain the fruit and reserve the liquor.
2. Cream together the softened butter, sugar, and salt with an electric or stand mixer until very light and fluffy.
3. Combine the extracts with the eggs then beat in the eggs one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl after each egg has been fully incorporated.
4. Sift the flour and baking powder over the egg/butter mixture, then mix in on low, adding in the milk before all the flour has been incorporated. Beat on medium low until all the flour is mixed in. Scraped down the sides of the bowl and finish mixing by hand until batter is smooth.
5. Toss 1-2 T. flour to fully coat the drained fruit before adding to the batter, along with orange zest. Fold the fruit and zest into the batter to evenly distribute.
6. Divide the batter equally between 4 well-greased mini loaf molds, leveling and smoothing out the surface.
7. Bake in a preheated 350F degree oven for about 23-25 mins. or until cake tests done. *About 40 mins. if baking a single large loaf.
8. Poke several holes into the hot loaves with a bamboo skewer and brush liberally with the reserved soaking liquor mixed with orange juice.