Folks on my home planet have spent the last eleven months salivating over fruitcake. Sadly, the aforementioned salivary anticipation has nothing to do with the actual consumption of that most decadently dense log of candied fruit deliciousness. Various tortures my lovely fruity cakes must endure include the loathsome fruitcake chukking, fruitcake football, and fruitcake relays. Some even more sinister, mail entire fruitcakes of unknown vintage to unsuspecting holiday recipients with the mandate to pass it along to yet another unsuspecting but assumed fruitcake despiser.
I love fruitcake. One of the perks of living in Southeast Georgia was our proximity to Claxton, home of the Christmas Fruitcake, or as my sister calls it, the gift that keeps on giving. She is not a fellow fan. Anyhoo, I did not have to wait until the stores crammed their shelves in October expecting an early run on my fruitcake delicacy. I did not have to fight those dadblasted cinnamon brooms that I abhor, loathe and detest. And what genius decided that cinnamon belongs on a broom? Doesn't putting a dark powdery substance on a broom kinda defeat the purpose of said sweeping implement? But, I digress. I could have fruitcake any time of the year I chose. We had Easter fruitcake, Valentine's Day fruitcake and most importantly Labour Day fruitcake celebrating the birth of me.
I was worried I would miss my fruity delightfulness once I sailed over the big blue to England. Here, folks eat mince pies and Christmas Pudding. I had visions of hamburger in a shell and creamy chocolate, well...pudding. Sounds pretty good, but nothing like my candied cherry and nut extravaganza I had become so accustomed to. And our neighbour proudly invited us to share mince pie with brandy butter and cream on Boxing Day. Okay, that pretty much knocks out my hamburger deduction. At least where I come from hamburger doesn't come with a side helping of flammable cream. The Christmas Pudding concept was a bit harder to grasp.
I saw the much loved and revered Christmas pudding when it made its seasonal debut in our local grocery store sometime around early October. And Americans think Christmas comes too soon on the home planet. Anyhoo, as said pudding was not in the refrigerator section, I decided pretty early on pudding here would not be the same as the creamy chocolaty version Bill Cosby encouraged us to eat when I was a child. The packaging of the pudding alone makes you want to indulge in this dark, decadent, glorious bit of Christmas cheer. Moist and dense and containing all the fruits I expect in my Christmas fruited cake, I was thrilled! The suggested way to serve this exotic rendition of my fruitcake is to pour brandy or rum on it, let it soak in and then light it for a stunning presentation. Cool! THEN they serve this edible fireworks show with brandy butter and brandy cream. The excitement builds. And then I read on. Seems that the folks here take a perfectly good fruitcake, and steam it. Steam it! Really?
That is not the most awful part. One of the ingredients is suet. I don't know what that is, but I am pretty sure it is not for human consumption. It gets worse. The cake is sometimes moistened with treacle. Again, not sure what a treacle is, but I think it is what you leave for the doctor in a specimen cup. No wonder these folks douse the pudding in alcohol. They need the antiseptic properties as well as a way to mask the taste! Good grief! Oh, and the chewy delicious candied fruit of my dreams? Nope. Not the same. Oh sure, they put loads of raisins and sultanas and dried apricots in the pudding that is not a pudding but a cake but not a cake because they steam it. The fruits are then soaked until they are puffed up and puffy and ...oh, I just don't think I can take much more.
I bought a pudding. I decided it was time to put all of my prejudices away and try this grand historical and beloved tradition. It is different. In fairness, the taste is not at all offensive. The treacle, which is actually black molasses, helps give it depth and keeps it from being too sweet. It is the texture I have the most difficulty with. The texture is not unlike someone decided to pour a large glug of milk into a handful of double-stuff Oreos in a glass, and returned to said glass an hour or so later to eat the mushy results. blurg. I will say the brandy butter and the brandy cream, as well as the brandy that is poured on before the brandy cream and butter, do help. Immensely. In fact next year, I am just going to have the brandy please. With a side of..well, brandy!
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