Nearly twice a year I’m required to join the rest of society for a weekend of normality – foreswearing hooks and tinsels, muddy creek bottoms, mashed sandwiches, and foul language.
In addition to the demise of the neatly tapered whip finish, most of us 99%’ers require a plastic container and paper label extolling the leaden nature of Grandma’s Fruit Cake – so we can tell how many slices we’ll have before the Type IV Diabetes klaxon summons the Gendarmes …
The many decade-long fairytale of Grandma’s Orgy of Christmas Baked goods has somehow given way to a smoldering microwave and a store-bought box of sugary unmentionables.
… which gives off a comforting whiff of overly warmed plastic when zapped, so we remind our kids of how plastic smelled – back when it had real carbon …
As I represent the 1% that still makes everything by hand – it falls to me to make the workforce regret coming to work this week, and stuffing themselves beyond capacity because the food is real for a change.
When you’re attempting to feed 40 or 50 people the Precious becomes the flat areas of the kitchen. As each smoking tray is yanked from the oven it was offloaded onto my makeshift cooling rack, wherein I shoved aside boxes of scissors, hooks, and flies – in favor of cinnamon, powdered sugar, and slivered almonds.
Herein lies the lesson for you young bucks – given that tomorrow everything feminine within a couple of zip codes will be making big doe eyes in my direction, as I’ve been identified as the Baking Equivalent of Brad Pitt.
… which will last so long as I’m upwind of them gals …
It’s not about being the best fisherman, it’s about being the best provisioned – you’ll always get the invite so long as you can lay on the smoking board …
Can you die from powdered sugar poisoning?
I expect someone will try before 9AM.
Excellent. I made two 37 pound fruitcakes last night. The good kind. None of those radioluminescent candied fruits in them.
We make a rum-soaked fruit cake about Turkey Day and let it marinate till Xmas…Drops you to yer knees,it’s soooogood…My fav has been Shortbread cookies,recipe from my great great grandma from Scotland,yum….
I dreamt I made a chocolate cake just yesterday. Múst’ve been a dream, cakes don’t just dissappear overnight, right? Right?
Angel Bars from the Joy of Cooking, and the story that comes with the recipe ( if you don’t mind a good weep).
CDF…that’s the Dept of: men in the woods with shovels. A shovel being the table utensil of choice. Large fruitcakes would be absent for a reason then.
Here here to the make everything by hand; we’re doing it for holiday gifts this year and will never go back.
We’re thinking of opening a brew pub before long, ready to leave that cushy state job and come bake for a living in Montana?
Considering that Older Bro and his shovel insists on a third of the fruitcake, that his younger sibling slaved over thanklessly, otherwise he goes running for his Momma – I’d show some humble (at least momentarily).
Fruitcake ain’t for the weak or weak-minded, it’s favored by Men, them as tamed the Rockies, kilt all the Grizz and beaver, then donated all that cash to restore them to the original range …
I don’t think that I’m inclined to be anything near equivalent to Brad Pitt. But you make me wish that Mom’s receipe book hadn’t disappeared over the years.I miss her German Chocolate cake and all the alcohol sodden goodies. Well, maybe some weren’t to sodden.
Could be that those wimmings look better (doe eyed?) after a shovel full of Fruit Cake…
If I wanted to be “like” anyone in the movies, maybe the Duke, in his prime, or Bogart.
So I’m setting all the good-goods out and mention to the slavering throng that I’ll be taking Friday off …
“You can’t”, says one of them, “Friday is the Potluck and you always bring the good stuff ..”
No rest for them as cooks.
Speaking of alcohol sodden, I am in proud possession of a virgin fruit cake, given to me in trade for a fifth of Meyers dark rum.
I have been spoon feeding a like amount into mine until it appears to have reached the saturation point.
I probably should forgo driving once I cut into it.