The fruitcake quandary
All it needs is a makeover: No neon green bits! No candied citron!
Let the fruitcake jokes fade away ... with this less disturbing fruitcake recipe. (Chicago Tribune/James Quinn)
Fruitcakes, alas, are past the point of being merely hilarious and are perhaps now in grave danger of fading into irrelevancy. If we can't eat them and we can't laugh about them, what further purpose could they serve?Still, fruitcakes persist. A commercial example purchased recently at a national-chain drugstore had a lovely decorative tin that claimed to contain a "premium" fruitcake. That was promising.
Yet upon opening the lid, the smell of red dye number 40 was so strong it evoked the sensation that a train of chemical tankers had derailed at the end of the street. The cake's heft was impressive for its size, and the ingredient list ran 109 words ("wheat flour" being words 35 and 36).
And what exactly were those neon green bits nestled into the cake beside the red nubby things and the blobby yellowish chunkettes and the alien-brainlike translucent cherries? It was all very disturbing.
As for the taste test, three words: dry, dry and horrible.
Of course, it's not fair to compare a fruitcake made several states away and who knows how long ago to any decent homemade fruitcake.
Allegedly, there are good fruitcake recipes out there. But where?
Sure, fruitcake recipes pop up from time to time in cookbooks and magazines, but they inevitably have headnotes that start something like this: "Most fruitcakes are awful, but this one will convert any nonbeliever." That is total rubbish, of course.
Please, if you've got a fruitcake recipe that you and your ilk actually like, then by all means keep using it. (Do not send it to this newspaper or this writer.) But keep in mind that your family might be lying about your cake's superiority and that the reason your dog gets sick every year around the holidays may be because he's eating a disturbing quantity of fruitcake handed to him under the table.
For those of us who don't have a good fruitcake recipe, let's have a fresh go at the whole problem. Let's back up and look at this situation from afar. Let's question our assumptions.
For example, why must so many fruitcakes be so dense and sweet and soaked in brandy or rum? Yes, to help preserve it, OK. Before the invention of refrigeration this was particularly important. But here's an idea for the modern age: Why do we want to preserve something we don't like? How about we reduce the cake's shelf life (or maturation time, if you want to look at it that way) in order to improve the cake's flavor?
While we're giving fruitcake a makeover, let's eliminate some of the worst ingredients.
Maraschino or candied cherries? Banned! Red dye, green dye or any dye? Cast them out into the cold! Candied citron? No way! Pineapple? Get thee to a nunnery! Golden raisins? Disgusting stuff, that!
Perhaps another problem with your average fruitcake is that there's just too much going on, like the baker just ransacked the pantry and used every possible ingredient. So a bit of simplicity might help us. Fewer fruits, for example.
And what about the spices like cloves, ginger, nutmeg, mace, et al., that can transport a fruitcake from the merely annoying category to the realm of the truly nauseating? Too many spices plus too many dried fruits equals badness, badness everywhere and nary a crumb to eat.
OK, and while we're at it, how about a cake that's easy to make? No four-hour baking time. No sprinkling the cake with brandy every day for six weeks before it's ready. How about a cake that's about as easy to make as your everyday corn bread, and which can be eaten immediately or kept for about 10 days? Yes!
Yadda, yadda, yadda, one week and $60 worth of dried fruit and nuts later, and I humbly submit the following recipe, one possible solution to the fruitcake problem. No neon green bits, no density problem, no spices. Just the right amount of dried fruit, some lovely walnuts and a nice touch of brandy and vanilla.
We'll know if the recipe is a true success if people start baking it at other times of the year than the holidays.
Let the fruitcake jokes fade away ...