OPINION: RUBY: We [still] Need a Little Christmas

Dec. 29—Christmas is over for another year. Sort of. If you got a fruitcake, it may be with you for a long time while that gift just sits on the counter. The berated fruitcake that "nobody" wants.

Recently I read "Christmas Foods and Feasting," by Nicole Humble, and decided to revisit a topic that I wrote about several years ago.

Humble maintains that "more than anything, cake is an idea." For some, fruitcake is an idea of a hard, inedible cake full of currants and nuts and some bitter cubes passing for fruit.

She traces our history of fruitcake back to Tudor England, when an "enriched spiced bread" began to appear in the 1530's.

Yeah, I know—that "fruitcake" has been circulating ever since . . .

That cake, called Twelfth Cake, could not be made or sold legally except for funerals, Good Friday, and Christmas. Very precious. They played a role in rituals and the festivities of Christmas.

Eaten on Twelfth Night (the 12th day after Christmas), they featured hidden "prizes" inside. If you found the bean or pea in your slice, you got to be the Lord of Misrule. A raucous evening of entertainment ensued.

Cakes underwent a change in the mid-1700's. A prior ingredient, yeast, was removed, and in 1780, kitchen ovens allowed more temperature control. As the cost of sugar fell, cakes became sweeter. and brandy replaced something called "sack."

By the 1800's, bakery cakes featured elaborate decorations and became too expensive for the masses. They also became somewhat dangerous, because in their competitive exuberance, confectioners began using toxic substances like arsenic in their food coloring.

So where did the masses turn for their holiday dessert? Plum pudding. Like in "A Christmas Carol."

But we should note that a "pudding" in England meant "dessert," not the custard mix we buy at Kroger.

Plum pudding, a type of fruitcake, is typically served by dousing it with brandy and setting it on fire as it is brought to the table. Hmm.

Special cakes—and versions of fruitcake—span the European continent. Scotland has Dundee Cake and Scotch Bun; Italy has panetonne, which in recent years has become popular here (I have a mini sitting on my counter). Germany has their stollen (we sampled the famous Dresden version this year).

French immigrants brought their cake to America, where New Orleans serves "King Cake," in honor of the Three Kings, from Epiphany to Mardi Gras.

Our idea of cake is a confection that is light, fluffy, and soft. Because of its airiness, and until modern preservatives, its shelf life was very short. Fruitcake, however, is dark, dense, and, well, sort of hard. It can be kept for weeks. Maybe months. Especially when it is soaked in alcohol (nature's preservative) as part of its preparation.

Hence the fruitcake jokes. Possibly starting with Johnny Carson, who quipped one night that "There is only one fruitcake in the entire world, and people keep sending it to each other."

My article in 2016 defended the popularity of fruitcake in America. From the Trappist Abbey in Kentucky to Southern Supreme Fruitcake in North Carolina, Collins Bakery in Texas, and Claxton Fruitcake in Georgia (probably the largest operation), an estimated 2 million are sold each year. That's a lot of fruitcake for a much maligned holiday treat, especially since some are incredibly expensive.

But with those to choose from — and many more — if you don't like fruitcake, maybe you just haven't sampled the right one yet. I chose mine years ago, when my father ordered Claxton's version as customer Christmas gifts.

That was back in the 1950's, when fruitcake was still considered a "must have" dessert for your Christmas table. Imagine my happiness when I found it a few years ago right here at E.C. Porter's.

Although I have to say, our Creekside Pantry here in London offers their own homemade version that is running a close second to my prized Claxton.

These local offerings would make it easy for you to sample one, too. As Mame famously sang, when longing for Christmas in the off-season, "Slice up the fruitcake/ It's time we've hung some tinsel on that evergreen bough . . . [and] we need a little Christmas now." Sounds good to me — any time of the year!