Living on Fruitcake Time

Iit was early November and I was feeling positively medieval, listening to Anonymous 4 singing the music of Hildegard von Bingen from their “11,000 Virgins” album as I chopped pecans for fruitcakes. With more than a month before Christmas, there was still time to make my annual melange of fruits (candied, yes, but extra heavy on the dried kind for zip and tang), nuts, molasses, butter and brandy, baked into a fragrant terrazzo-like loaf. Four days from now, those brandy-soaked loaves, each wrapped in cheesecloth and looking like an early Christian reliquary, will be distributed to family and friends. Whether they want one or not. I’ve been doing this for years. It’s my Christmas joke. One that might grow tired but never stale.

Don’t get me wrong. I make fruitcakes for me. I imagine the world’s first fruitcake sprang from a need to preserve the fall harvest for a winter’s worth of sweets. My fruitcakes preserve me, provide a grounding ritual to the giving season. I’d much rather be tossing a half-ton of fruits and nuts into my grocery basket, like some squirrel on the verge of hibernation, than shuffling through a mall in search of the latest nose-hair clipper for that special someone. I think of my hefty, brick-shaped gems as ammo for everyone on my list. For those who welcome them, my moist, dense cakes are considered friendly fire. For those who don’t, it’s time to duck and run.

“Mother, I’m making fruitcakes,” I said, shoulder pressing phone to ear as I stirred batter in the sink-sized stainless-steel bowl bought just for this purpose.

“I’ve still got one from last year in my freezer,” she said politely.

What she really meant was, she will not answer the door if I show up with another one this year. My sister once left my gift-wrapped loaf on her mantel. It became part of the decor, as if to ward off future fruitcakes. It worked.

On the other hand, lots of people love my fruitcakes, and I feel derelict if I don’t make them. My friend Caroline rips at the cake with her hands, breaking off dark chunks to gnaw on eagerly. I’m afraid to not give her one.

My husband, who covets my fruitcakes, was drawn to the kitchen by the scent of cinnamon and allspice permeating the house. Between nibbles of batter, he told me the “11,000” of the album title was the medieval way of saying countless. I looked at the yellowed newspaper recipe I’ve improved on over the years and noticed the date was Nov. 2, 1977. My recipe was 20 years old that exact day. I had to sniff a pinch of cloves to stop the room from spinning. Not only was I guilty of making countless fruitcakes, I was living on fruitcake time. Innumerable people, cats, homes, careers and direct mail Christmas catalogs have passed through my life, while one thing has remained essentially the same--my fruitcake output.

The sentimental fruitcake-making me wanted to pause and have a sip of soaking brandy--despite the early hour--to toast the moment. The cynical, opportunistic me, my bare hands sunk into the batter for final mixing, the abrasive chunks providing a mud-like massage, thought there must be a screenplay in here somewhere. And I bet, with just a few phone calls, I could find one of my original fruitcakes to star in it.

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CALIFORNIA-STYLE FRUITCAKE

(Makes about 8 9-inch loaves)

1 pound blanched almonds

1/2 pound pecans

1/4 pound walnuts

4 pounds mixed candied fruit

1 pound seedless raisins

10 ounces dried figs

1 pound pitted dates

1/2 pound currants

1/2 pound dried apricots

1/2 pound dried cherries

1/2 pound dried blueberries

1/2 pound dried cranberries

1/2 to 1 cup crystallized ginger (optional)

1/2 cup or more brandy

8 to 10 ounces jam, preferably blackberry

4 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon ground allspice

2 teaspoons ground nutmeg

1 teaspoon ground cloves

1 pound butter

1 pound brown sugar

1 cup molasses

12 eggs

1 pound flour (3 1/2 to 4 cups)

2 teaspoons salt

whole blanched almonds and whole

candied cherries for decoration

brandy for soaking

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Chop nuts and fruits (grind dates and figs if you can because they’re sticky, or be prepared for more chopping) and combine in large bowl. Add brandy, jam and spices; mix well and set aside. In separate bowl, cream butter, then add brown sugar, molasses and eggs that have been beaten until foamy; mix well. Add flour and salt to create batter and pour over fruit mixture. Combine thoroughly. Add flour or brandy if needed. Dough should be fairly stiff, not runny.

Preheat oven to 275 degrees with pan of hot water in bottom of oven for moisture during baking. Grease loaf pans well and line with heavy waxed, brown or parchment paper. Fill pans with dough until three-fourths full. Decorate cakes by pressing almonds and cherries into tops. Bake until straw or toothpick comes out clean (about 2 hours and 45 minutes). Be careful not to overbake or burn.

After baking, place cakes in pans on racks to cool. Slowly pour a little brandy on top of each. Wait 15 minutes, then invert cakes on waxed paper on racks, remove baking paper and pour more brandy over each. Warm cakes absorb brandy better than cool cakes. When cakes are completely cooled, wrap in cheesecloth, then aluminum foil or plastic wrap. Store in airtight containers.

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Food stylist: Norman Stewart