I am astounded, on an annual basis, at the vehemence at which people denounce the poor, much-maligned fruitcake. I guess the 12 months in between always makes me forget, but once October rolls around and the topic of fruitcake comes up, people get downright ugly.

There’s a theory that anger is the result of fear, and if that’s the case, I know an awful lot of people who are irrationally fearful of pecans and glace cherries. To the point where the mere mention of this traditional holiday treat makes their eyes bulge, their blood pressure soar, and their faces get all red and scary. When I recently mentioned in my Facebook status that I was planning on making fruitcake, I thought my message wall was going to need disinfecting. One person wanted me to know, in no uncertain terms that he did not want to be on my fruitcake gift list. Another asked, “Does anyone eat that shit? I have three frozen in my freezer.”

Now, aside from the overwhelming curiosity of wanting to know how and why my friend ended up with three full fruitcakes, AND kept the things despite his dislike for the stuff, I would like to use his comment as my first point in determining why people don’t like fruitcake. There’s just too damn much of it out there.

Fruitcake dates back to Ancient Rome, and began to be referred to as “fruitcake” in the Middle Ages. By Victorian times, when cheap sugar from the colonies made preserving fruit much easier, the cakes became a symbol of the harvest, and were made late in the year, to be eaten before the harvest the following year. A law restricting the consumption of plum cake (which was really any kind of fruitcake) because it was “sinfully rich” to special occasions such as Christmas, Easter, weddings, christenings, and funerals helped to make fruitcake a traditional treat for Christmas. And also explains the reason why it shows up at weddings so often.

Heavy and dense with fruit, nuts and often alcohol of some kind, fruitcake is also traditionally made in regular cake pans, under the assumption that it would be shared with guests or a large family. Even people who like fruitcake can’t eat a whole one, and in this baker’s opinion, full-sized cakes have gone, or need to go, the way of the dodo. The total cost for the ingredients in an average fruitcake cake run $25 - $30 for one cake if alcohol is included in the recipe. (A good source for fruitcake ingredients both traditional and exotic is Domino’s in St. Lawrence Market (97 Front Street East) - they’ve got huge bins of different types of candied peel, glace cherries and mixed candied fruit and every kind of nut imaginable.)

To thwart some of the fruitcake rage, I always make fruitcakes in cupcake pans. I am able to split up one recipe to share with a number of people, and no one is faced with a massive 2-pound doorstop of a cake. As we’ve determined, fruitcake is intimidating. In some people, it causes great stress. Cupcake-sized fruitcakes are not at all intimidating or scary. They’re cute, even. And fruitcake-haters can be placated in knowing that a little two-bite cake is all they’ll be expected to endure.

More difficult to fix is the issue of the ingredient haters. Some people don’t like nuts, some don’t like the dried fruit. Others hate the dry crumbly cake so prevalent in store-bought versions, and I’ve yet to find anyone who actually likes the marzipan icing. Even me, and I’m a huge fan of marzipan generally.

This is where we buck tradition once again. Who says fruitcake has to be that standard mix of boring mixed fruit and stale nuts? No wonder people hate the stuff. Most of it IS terrible. I walk through grocery stores at this time of year and shake my head in dismay at the shoddy selection of fruitcake on offer. There are some exceptions, though, and for those not interested in making their own, high-end shops such as All the Best Fine Foods (1101 Yonge Street), Bruno’s Fine Foods (1560 Yonge Street) and Pusateri’s (57 Yorkville Avenue) all have decent to great fruitcake on offer. Visitors to the One of a Kind Show and Sale (running at the Direct Energy Centre from November 22nd to December 2nd) have the opportunity to pick up a fruitcake from The Cookie Shoppe, where their famous award-winning fruitcake will be available.

But for the daring, and truly fruitcake-loving, one of the positive aspects of baking fruitcakes at home is that they are easily customizable. Don’t like nuts? Don’t add ‘em. Hate cherries? Use something else. Want more fruit to cake ratio? Add more fruit. Can’t stand the dry sawdust-like cake? Douse the thing in booze.

Booze is my third trick in luring people to try (and like) fruitcake. Without a hearty amount of hooch, no fruitcake is all that good. However, soak the fruit in a nice liqueur and then spend the next four to six weeks tending to that fruitcake by brushing it with more liqueur on a weekly basis, and presto, a fruitcake no one can resist. If nothing else, it will make the fruitcake haters tipsy.

People are always astounded to discover that I actually make three different kinds of fruitcake each year. None of them are typical or traditional in anyway.

The first is a cake made exclusively with orange peel, and is soaked in orange liqueur such as Grand Marnier. Sometimes I add pecans, sometimes not. The next is a black forest fruitcake, in which glace cherries are macerated in a blend of cherry brandy and crème de cacao. Almonds are added and the batter is made with a rich dark cocoa.

The piece de resistance, the one my family will not permit me NOT to make, is a tropical fruitcake in which I soak pineapple, papaya, candied ginger, coconut and currants in coconut rum. For nuts I add chopped cashews and macadamia nuts.

This particular fruitcake has converted avowed fruitcake haters. They start out with a little mini two-bite cupcake and after they’ve eaten three or four of the things will either ask for the recipe or ask to get on the fruitcake gift list for next year. This moment is one of the greatest things for me about baking fruitcake; watching the rage fade away to be replaced by a look of happiness and delight. It’s like that scene from How the Grinch Stole Christmas when the Grinch’s heart grows.

One final fruitcake mention definitely needs to go to the Peace of Cake event at George Brown School of Hospitality. Each year a group of volunteers including students, faculty and staff along with members of the Canadian Armed Forces get together to create 1500 gift baskets (which include fruitcake made from the recipe Chef John Higgens used at Buckingham Palace) and hand them out to shelters, missions and patients at the Veteran’s Care wing of Sunnybrook Hospital. There is no date publicized for this years event, but anyone interested in experiencing mass-production of some really amazing fruitcake should consider volunteering.

I hope my fruitcake-hating friend clears out his freezer and donates his three unwanted fruitcakes to charity. I’m sure there’s a community kitchen that would be happy to take them. In the meantime, I’m putting together a special basket of samples of each of my cakes just for him. I’m figuring that the small size, plus the combination of chocolate, booze and interesting, non-traditional ingredients might just win him over.

Tropical Fruitcake

3/4 cup finely diced candied pineapple
3/4 cup finely diced candied papaya
1/2 cup finely diced candied ginger
1/2 cup currants
1/2 cup medium coconut (unsweetened)
1 cup coconut rum liqueur
1/3 cup margarine
3/4 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar
1 egg
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp ground cardamom
1/2 cup finely chopped cashews
1/2 cup finely chopped macadamias
extra liqueur for brushing

Combine the pineapple, papaya, ginger, currants, and coconut with the coconut rum.

Preheat the oven to 300F. Line muffin tins or mini-muffin tins with baking cups.

In a large mixing bowl, cream the margarine and sugar together. Beat until fluffy and then beat in the egg. Sift together the flour, baking soda, salt and spices. Add to the batter and mix until well blended. Add the nuts and the fruit and mix well.

Spoon the batter into the baking cups, filling about 3/4 full. If desired, press half a macadamia nut into the centre of each one. Bake for 30 minutes. Transfer the baking cups to a wire rack and brush the top of each fruitcake with the additional liqueur. Store in an airtight container to cure the cake, brushing with liqueur about once a week.

Yield: 12 muffin sized cakes and 12 mini-muffin sized cakes.

Note: vary the quantities to your personal taste. The combined amount of fruit and nuts is equal to four cups. In this recipe, the cake batter really serves to hold the fruit and nuts together – it’s more about the garnish than the cake – as long as you’ve got the proportions right, the cake will work, so feel free to experiment.

For another look at converting fruitcake haters, check out my post from last year on Save Your Fork.