In Defense of the Christmas Fruitcake

A holiday tradition with a serious public relations problem

Somewhere along the way, Christmas fruitcake became the holiday gift nobody wanted.

Which is rather unfortunate for a cake that's been trying its best for centuries.

It's been called heavy. Dry. Suspiciously colorful. It's been re-gifted, used as a doorstop in countless jokes, and accused of surviving longer than the people who baked it. And yet, every Christmas, there it is.

Somebody is still making fruitcake. Somebody is still buying fruitcake.

And somewhere, somebody is looking forward to eating it.

I think it's time we heard their side of the story.

Exhibit A: The Christmas Fruitcake Was Once a Luxury

Imagine a kitchen in Victorian England, sometime before Christmas. There's dried fruit on the table. Raisins, currants, candied citrus peel, spices, nuts, and perhaps a little brandy.

Someone is preparing a rich fruitcake for the holidays. This isn't a last-minute dessert.

The ingredients are expensive, the preparation takes time, and in some households the finished cake will be stored and occasionally fed with spirits before Christmas arrives.

The cake is something special.

Long before supermarkets stocked every imaginable ingredient, dried fruits and imported spices were luxuries. Putting so many of them into one cake was a generous thing to do.

A Christmas fruitcake wasn't something you made because you had nothing else in the cupboard. You made it because it was Christmas. And Christmas deserved something extraordinary. Funny how things change.

Exhibit B: The Rest of the World Has Been Enjoying Its Relatives

Let's take a little trip. Our first stop is Dresden, Germany.

It's December, and the Christmas market is busy with people browsing wooden ornaments, drinking something warm, and carrying packages from little stalls. And somewhere among the gingerbread and roasted almonds, you'll find Stollen.

This traditional German Christmas bread is filled with dried fruit, often raisins and candied citrus peel, along with butter, spices, and sometimes marzipan.

A generous coating of powdered sugar gives it a snowy appearance. Dresden takes its Stollen seriously.

The city's baking tradition goes back centuries, and genuine Dresdner Christstollen even has protected geographical status.

There's also a Stollen festival celebrating the city's famous Christmas specialty.

So while Americans are making jokes about fruitcake, the people of Dresden are holding a festival for one of its relatives. That's quite a difference in public relations.

Now let's head south to Milan. Walk past the bakeries during the Christmas season, and you'll see tall, beautifully wrapped boxes of Panettone.

Inside is a golden, airy sweet bread traditionally studded with raisins and candied citrus.

Panettone is softer and lighter than a traditional British-style fruitcake, but it shares that wonderful idea of making dried fruit part of a special holiday bread.

Families give it as a gift. Friends bring it to gatherings. Bakeries make it a centerpiece of the season.

And then there's the Caribbean. In places such as Jamaica and Trinidad and Tobago, Christmas black cake is a treasured holiday tradition.

Dried fruits are often soaked in rum or wine well before the holiday season, then blended into a rich, dark cake. Recipes vary from family to family. Some people begin preparing the fruit months ahead.

Imagine telling an American fruitcake skeptic that somewhere else, people are planning their Christmas cake before summer is over.

The cake clearly has friends in other countries.

Exhibit C: How America Turned Christmas Fruitcake Into a Joke

So what happened?

How did a cake associated with generosity, celebration, and expensive ingredients become something people joke about receiving? There's no single culprit.

By the twentieth century, mass-produced fruitcakes were widely available through mail-order businesses. Some were dense, sweet, and packed with brightly colored candied fruit.

And American tastes were changing. People increasingly favored lighter, softer cakes with fluffy frosting. Fruitcake was old-fashioned.

Then the comedians got involved. Johnny Carson famously joked that there was only one fruitcake in existence and people simply kept passing it around. It was a good joke.

Possibly too good. Because once fruitcake became the official Christmas punchline, the reputation stuck. Even people who had never tasted a good homemade fruitcake knew they were supposed to dislike it.

And here's where the story gets especially entertaining. In Manitou Springs, Colorado, people took the joke one step further. They started throwing fruitcakes.

Exhibit D: The Great Fruitcake Toss

Yes. An actual fruitcake toss. In Manitou Springs, a town at the foot of Pikes Peak, the Great Fruitcake Toss has become a wonderfully ridiculous local tradition.

People gather to launch unwanted fruitcakes through the air. There have been contests involving distance, accuracy, and creative launching devices.

Apparently, when a cake has survived centuries of history only to become America's least appreciated Christmas gift, the next logical step is to build something that can throw it.

I have questions. Who looked at a fruitcake and thought, "We should see how far this thing can fly"? And more importantly, who agreed?

But I have to admit, it's a fantastic example of people finding a reason to get together.

Even the fruitcake's bad reputation has created a gathering tradition. That's quite an accomplishment for a dessert.

A Little Discovery: The Cake That Went to Antarctica

And just when you think fruitcake couldn't possibly have another story to tell, we arrive in Antarctica.

In 1910, British explorer Robert Falcon Scott's expedition took fruitcake along on its journey.

More than a century later, a fruitcake associated with the expedition was discovered in a historic hut at Cape Adare.

It was still wrapped in paper and sitting in its original tin. Conservators described it as remarkably well preserved, although it was certainly not being served for afternoon tea.

Think about that for a moment. A cake that traveled to Antarctica over a hundred years ago was still recognizable.

Maybe all those jokes about fruitcake lasting forever weren't entirely invented. Although I wouldn't recommend testing the theory with the one at the back of your pantry.

The Defense Rests. Almost.

Here's the thing. You don't have to love fruitcake. You might never enjoy the dense texture, the candied cherries, or the combination of fruit and spices. That's perfectly fine.

But it’s hard not to appreciate the Christmas fruitcake, a dessert that has traveled through centuries, crossed oceans, appeared at Christmas markets, inspired treasured family recipes, and somehow ended up being launched across a field in Colorado.

There's a whole world of traditions hiding behind that much-maligned slice.

And maybe that's the real reason to give it another look.

Not because everyone should become fruitcake enthusiasts. But because there's usually an interesting story behind the things we think we already know. Even the Christmas desserts we've been making fun of for years.

Bring a Holiday State of Mind Home

Try a fruitcake from somewhere else. Look for German Stollen, Italian Panettone, or Caribbean black cake at a local bakery or specialty shop. They're different traditions, not interchangeable versions of the same cake, and that's what makes tasting them interesting.

Ask about a family recipe. Does someone in your family still make fruitcake? Ask where the recipe came from. You might discover a story that's been passed down for generations.

Make dessert a little discovery. Put out a few slices of different holiday fruit breads or cakes with coffee, hot chocolate, or a favorite after-dinner drink. Invite friends to try something unfamiliar and see which one they'd happily eat again.

No fruitcake-shaped decorations required. And if nobody likes any of them?

Well, apparently there's a town in Colorado that might have some ideas.

After centuries of criticism, I think the Christmas fruitcake deserves at least one more chance. Or at the very least, a little respect.

Will you be having fruitcake this holiday season? Let me know in the comments.