Mother’s Fruitcake

Once again I endeavor to duplicate that recipe lost to time…Mother’s fruitcake.  Once again striving to reproduce the taste, the texture and the aroma that transports me back to my childhood.

I remember, as a kid, the run up to Christmas was always filled with a lot of anxious anticipation.  There were daydreams of bicycles, BB guns and big bowed boxes. Mom’s dark brown almost black fruitcake was a key ingredient to the season. 

Each day it would be taken down from the kitchen cabinet and season with a jigger full of Christmas spirits, rewrapped in a dish towel, sealed back in a cake tin and returned to it’s hiding place.  

It stirs my digestive juices to this day as I recall quaffing in the remarkable scent emanating from that sacred tin.

I recolect the paper-thin slices…the translucent bits of fruit…the amazing aroma, the lusty flavor that lingers long on your list of unforgettable memories.

It is the anticipation of what was to come.  No one was allowed to partake of the tasty delight until Christmas day. 

Because it was the birthday boy’s cake…Happy Birthday Jesus.

For all my blessings who do I thank?

I must admit I’m little blank.

Sometimes things get dark and dank.

And I can be a bit of a crank.

But from your duty you never shrank.

Help me, Lord, accept the cup you drank.

For your promise is money in the bank.

Jesus, number one is where you rank.

Amen