Fruitcake – It’s a Love or Hate Relationship

Fruitcake: a treat that sparks strong opinions—you either love it or hate it. But don’t worry, this isn’t about how to bake one. It’s just a story. 🙂

As Christmas approaches, I think about my grandmother’s and mother’s fruitcakes. They were so different, but both were special traditions in our family.

Though they’re no longer with us, the memories of those Christmas traditions will always stay with me—just like that unforgettable fruitcake. 😉

My Grandmother’s Cake

My grandmother’s cake… I wish I had a photo to show you. Back then, we used a Kodak Brownie camera, but pictures were mostly for people, not food. We didn’t photograph breakfast to share with everyone like we do today. Simpler times, the good old days.

My grandmother’s fruitcake baking always began days in advance, maybe even a week before Christmas.

Candied Fruits & Nuts

The grocery list had the usual cake ingredients, but it also included candied cherries—red and green, candied pineapple in red, green, and yellow, and green candied citron (whatever that was—I never really knew). And then there were the spices… lots of them. Allspice, cinnamon, and probably a few more I can’t recall.

Citron

Hold on a second—I thought this was the perfect time to ask Google about citron!

Turns out, it’s a large citrus fruit with a thick rind and very little pulp, often used candied in baking and desserts.

What I remember about citron is that it had a bitter taste, kind of like grapefruit. But hey, with enough sugar, you can make almost anything edible. 🙄

Currants

The cake was loaded with raisins—both regular and yellow—and currants, along with pecans and walnuts. Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing currants in the grocery store lately. I never quite understood the difference between raisins and currants, except that currants were smaller.

Another quick bite of food knowledge!

The difference between raisins and currants lies in the type of grape and the drying process:

• Raisins are made from large, seedless grapes (like Thompson Seedless) that are dried until they’re dark and chewy.
• Currants, on the other hand, are made from small, seedless black Corinth grapes. They’re dried into tiny, tart, and slightly sweeter pieces. Currants are often smaller and more intense in flavor than raisins.

Finding the Goods

If a grocery store was out of one of the candied fruits, panic would set in.

When we were older, or married and living on our own, she would call us at work and say, “Pick me up some green cherries! I need green cherries!” And off we’d go, hunting for them.

Baking the Cake

She baked the layers one at a time in her big skillet. Most of her cakes had two layers, though sometimes she’d make three thin ones.

The icing was cooked on the stove and spread between the layers and on top. It was more like a thick glaze, with grated orange rind and coconut mixed in.

For decoration, she used more candied fruits and halved nuts—pecans and walnuts that had to be perfect. Back then, you didn’t buy a bag of nut halves; you cracked them yourself, often on a Saturday night while watching TV.

Her finished cake sat proudly on a glass cake plate with a metal cover. It was so heavy! It would rest on top of her freezer, waiting for the Christmas dinner….which was 12:00 noon.)))

Mama’s Fruitcake Tradition

Christmas Eve meal was a tradition in our family—always at noon, no exceptions. I reckon it was written in stone, or maybe even in blood! These days, I try to be flexible about scheduling family meals, but my grandmother, “Mama,” wouldn’t budge on this one.

The meal kicked off around 12:00 sharp. After everyone had their fill of turkey, ham, dressing, fruit salad, and all the trimmings, out came the fruitcake. That’s when the polite protests would start. We kids would race out of the kitchen and straight into the living room where the presents waited.

Mama was relentless. She made sure everyone—and I mean everyone—had at least a piece or a bite of her fruitcake. There would be no rest until it was tasted by all.

Truth be told, I don’t think anyone really liked it. Maybe it was the spices, or the grated orange peel in the icing. Or perhaps we were just too stuffed from lunch to enjoy anything else.

Oddly enough, the fruitcake became more tolerable in the days after Christmas. When all the other treats were gone, and you were down to that last holiday indulgence, Mama’s fruitcake didn’t seem so bad after all.

My Mother’s Fruitcake

My mother’s fruitcake was a completely different creation. She used crushed graham crackers or vanilla wafers, pecans, raisins, and maraschino cherries—all held together with melted marshmallows, marshmallow cream, or condensed sweetened milk. It was a no-bake masterpiece.

I made her fruitcake last year, and here’s the recipe!

What’s Not to Love About That Cake?

My mother’s fruitcake was a hit from start to finish. She would crush the graham crackers, carefully saving the box, then toss everything—pecans, raisins, cherries—into a big bowl. Melted marshmallows, or Eagle Brand milk were poured over the mix, and with her hands, she worked it all together.

Next, she’d pack the mixture back into the graham cracker boxes, now lined with wax paper, and tuck them into the refrigerator. Of course, she’d have to shoo us kids out of the kitchen to keep us from sneaking a piece before it even had time to set!

It wasn’t a competition or anything, but Christmas always meant two fruitcakes in our family. My mother’s no-bake cake would arrive quietly, placed on top of the chest freezer with the desserts, while my grandmother’s fruitcake got all the attention.

When my grandmother proudly presented her fruitcake, everyone would admire it, take a bite, and share polite comments. But before leaving the kitchen, they’d make a beeline for my mother’s fruitcake, grabbing a piece and devouring it, licking their fingers with a satisfied smile.

A Slice of Fruitcake Creativity (Gone Wrong!)

As we got older and moved out, Mother kept up her tradition. She’d make her fruitcake, dividing it up into smaller tins. She would always send one home with you from the fridge. At our house, not a single bite of her fruitcake ever went to waste.

One year, I decided to try my hand at her no-bake fruitcake recipe. Feeling creative, I had what I thought was a brilliant idea—packing the mixture into empty Pringles cans. I envisioned slicing it into perfect little rounds, making it both unique and elegant.

Well… let’s just say it didn’t go as planned. I ended up cutting the cans off the cake, and those “neat little rounds” were anything but neat! 😂

Appreciating the Labor of Love in Fruitcake

Now that I’m older and have baked a few cakes myself, I completely understand how my grandmother must have felt—and why she insisted everyone take a bite of her fruitcake.

That was hard work, and she absolutely deserved to be appreciated for it!

I only wish I had her recipe. If I did, I’d bake that cake myself…and make EVERYONE eat it!! 😂

Originally posted in 2011, now updated.