The first day of holiday baking was a huge success. After a relaxing start to the day and enjoying my morning coffee, I got to work in the kitchen. I grew up in the ‘50s and ‘60s when the obligatory holiday fruitcake came to our house…usually as part of my dad’s Christmas bonus package. Fruitcakes back then came in these really great heavy-duty tins embossed with festive Victorian holiday scenes. These tins often went on to become the button boxes many of us remember sifting through at our grandmother’s homes. 

I really hated fruitcake. It was almost a rule of thumb that children and fruitcake did not mix and if you liked it, you never admitted to it. It was thick, dark, gummy, and so sickeningly sweet. Once in a while, I might pick out a candied cherry and eat it, but that was the extent of my experience with fruitcake. The fact that it’s often soaked in booze might have been a deterrent in my house growing up. (I received a cookbook as a wedding gift from my grandma and she crossed out the word “beer” in a recipe for barbecue sauce!)

Enter, Mr. Virgo. Fruitcake, like opera and the Philadelphia Eagles, entered my world along with that tall, handsome man. Unfortunately, he liked traditional fruitcake. I happened to mention this to my cousin’s wife and she sent me my Aunt Marge’s White Fruitcake recipe. She assured me, even a diehard fruitcake hater like me would love this recipe. The following year, I made two loaf pans of fruitcake before Thanksgiving, wrapped them in cheesecloth, and started giving them a weekly drink of bourbon.

The week before Christmas, I brought the fruitcake in from cold storage in the garage and cut a few slices for Mr. Virgo’s gustatory pleasure. He declared it the best fruitcake he had ever tasted. I felt this was a fine endorsement and he talked me into trying a piece myself. Being the good sport that I am, I complied…fully prepared to again, hate it. But…oh my GOSH, people! It was divine! Granted…it’s still not something I’m going to overindulge in. It is definitely an acquired taste. But as far as fruitcakes go, this is the bomb. And here’s where the bad news comes in.

I cannot share the recipe with you.

My Aunt Marge was an incredible cook. Legendary. She worked and perfected this recipe over the years and would never give the recipe away, no matter WHO asked. I was privileged to be gifted this recipe and had to promise I wouldn’t share it. (Trust me, I asked with you all in mind…no go.)

So, why am I sharing this when I can’t share the recipe? Basically, to share my love for my Aunt Marge. To share a tradition. And, yeah…to maybe brag a little that I finally found a fruitcake I can eat. Don’t be too dismayed. If you hate fruitcake as much as most people, you’ll just scratch your head at the thought people really eat this stuff. If you DO love fruitcake, you can Google “White Fruitcake” and find a recipe that might give you something like Aunt Marge’s. But I doubt it will be as good as this one. ‘Cause…it’s truly a family heirloom.

Next up…Banana Bread!

?

“Your wife will be as fruitful as a grapevine, and just as an olive tree is rich with olives, your home will be rich with healthy children.”

Psalms 128:3 CEV