I just have to take a moment to talk about fruitcake.
Not that loaf that you can get from the supermarket, saturated with corn syrup and preservatives, full of candied cherries and green jellied citrus. That's not what I mean at all.
Here's a photo of what I think of when I say "fruitcake":
"The Family Kitchen" Blog
When I was about eight, my mother let me at a fruitcake recipe. I put in about five pounds of dried fruit, and it was so hard to stir! With a little help from her I lined the bundt cake pan with brown paper. I overcooked it a little, but to me it was the most delicious thing in the world! And mom loved it unconditionally, as she loved me and my sister.
I suppose there's enough southern blood left on that side of the family to make fruitcake, swiss chard, and grits almost biologically attractive.
I don't understand the universal dislike of fruitcake in the United States!
Please, someone, write to me and tell me that you, too, love the rich, moist, rum-infused yumminess that is fruitcake.
Since I've been up to my ears in mala-making, I haven't gotten past buying the luscious dried fruit for my intended fruitcake. This happens more often than not, year after year. Best intentions but little actual time to cook. But I think it will be fine to make it in the New Year, wrap it for a couple of months, dousing it in liquor now and then, and wait until late spring to eat it. I really want to!
Bless all moms and dads who let eight-year-olds into the kitchen to make huge messes and create the unusual.
Have a very happy holiday, whatever you do!