A Fruitcake Recipe—and a History

Before I give you the recipe for the best fruitcake in the world, I think some backstory would be nice. About 300 years ago, my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother came up with a fruitcake recipe. She was born in post-Revolutionary Massachusetts, so naturally, her fruitcake was a great yuletide-themed weapon against the pesky British, who just refused to leave. Though this fruitcake was able to feed her and the village for the whole month of December, nobody ever actually wanted to eat it; instead, they’d usually sit around it and tell stories while chucking rocks at it. The children even made a game out of it: whoever cracked the candied berries got five extra minutes with the raccoons before Father had to turn them into hats for all the Davy Crockett fanatics. How fun! I’ve always wanted a bloody animal hat for Christmas.

After the children got their nightly story fix, they played the game we now know as “catch the fruitcake.” Unfortunately, the cake never turned out sticky enough to allow for harmless fun—instead, the leaden, doughy mass and rock-hard, fruit-like lumps made any and all fruitcake games definitively harmful. Every now and then, someone got a raisin in the eye, and since the cake was close to two-weeks-old by the time the raisins became soft enough to fall out, the unlucky child usually had to make do with one good eye for a couple of months. Who knows what was up with those raisins?

All the people of the village gathered around the fruitcake once more and sang to it annually on December 24. They sang all sorts of tunes, like “She’ll Be Coming Round the Christmas Tree” and “Old MacDonald Had a Candy Cane.” Right before they went to sleep, the oldest child had the grand honor of setting this monstrosity on fire. Then, they woke up bright and early on December 25 to the sounds of jingle bells and the smell of burning fruitcake.

Anyway, I’ve given you enough Christmas past for today. Let me fast forward to present-day Christmas. A few months ago, I was diagnosed with stage three boanthropy, the psychological disorder that makes one believe he or she is a cow, so I decided to do some digging in my late wife’s attic in her old house in Iowa. I didn’t know how much time I had left as a mostly human-acting figure, so I decided to start baking some more while I still could. I always had a suspicion that she still had some of my old things that she stole in her attic, hence my snooping. As I rummaged about, I noticed what looked like the corner of a piece of parchment sticking out from under a cardboard box. Lifting the box carefully, I removed the fragile paper, and I found none other than my GGGGGGGGG-Ma’s world-famous fruitcake recipe. Seeing the recipe I had heard so much about brought tears to my eyes. My late wife must’ve snatched it out of jealousy that my family history was more interesting than hers. But hey! Talk about a Christmas miracle. I called all my cats up to the attic so they could witness the moment. Sniffles let out a sniffle. My oldest cat, Mr. Fluffles, wasn’t very considerate: he scratched the recipe straight down the middle, splitting the aging paper in two. I had to do some tedious tape repairs to read it again. You know how the oldest children can get.

Once I got home, I realized that there was no better way to honor my late wife’s memory and celebrate in the Christmas spirit than to make the cake. I will admit, it did get a little messy, mainly because Madame Buttercup would not stop eating all the flour. I practically had to duct-tape her to the wall.

First things first (or after 600 words of backstory), let me walk you through the ingredients. You’ll need:

A heap of flour

A little bit of butter

A dollop of sugar

A dram of molasses

A pottle of brandy

A smidgen of egg whites

A dash of Himalayan pink salt

An inkling of grass (yes, you read that right)

Your favorite peppermint anything

Once you’ve lined up your ingredients, you’ll want to whip out your air fryer (I know, great-great-great-great-etc.-grandma didn’t own one of these, but I do!). Turn it to the highest setting, mix all your ingredients straight into the air fryer, and let them cook until you see a dense smoke come out of your little trinket. That’s when you’ll know it’s really ready. Then, take it out of the air fryer (if you can) and enjoy! You can do loads of cool things with this bad boy. I hope you enjoy it as much as Snuggles did before he was smothered by falling prunes! Happy Holidays!