Till Westermayer from Freiburg, Germany, Bremer Klaben-01, CC BY-SA 2.0

On a whim I bought a fruitcake from the supermarket yesterday. It wasn’t to give away; I specifically bought it to eat. It’s the early days of Christmas, but I didn’t want to wait until we were inundated by holiday foods, to be able to appreciate the boozy, nutty, glazed-fruity goodness of a good fruitcake. Obviously I hadn’t had a good fruitcake in years. Our friends have sort of stopped giving away fruitcakes because 1) the fruitcakes were probably being re-gifted endlessly, or 2) the fruitcakes weren’t very good. The last time we were gifted a fruitcake, it was a beautifully decorated one from Cafe France which had a horrible texture. I hated it. To prevent us from being given the same thing the next year, we had to drop heavy hints that we appreciated another delicacy for a change.

I wanted a fruitcake like the ones we used to have when we were children. My father’s former secretary used to bake them, and we received one every Christmas until she got married and moved away. I loved the naughtiness of eating rummy cake when I was too young to drink alcohol. Bernie’s fruitcakes were rich and dark, and DRY. No crumbly wet messes of improperly aged fruitcake. That was my gold standard for fruitcake; the memory of it would echo in my mind each time the holidays came, and I would crave the taste.

So did the supermarket fruitcake measure up? Thankfully, it did! It was not as dark as I thought it would be, but that’s a minor quibble. It was DRY, the glazed fruit were evenly distributed throughout the cake matrix, it smelled good, and the texture of the cake was just right. It was nicely priced, too. I’m sorry there are no pictures. We demolished that cake in two sittings. I’m going to buy another one next week.

Daily Prompt: Echo

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