The joys of sending food for the holidays.
The holidays, their excesses, and the absolution of those excesses in the unblemished promise of the new year are nigh upon us. As such, I feel the need to come clean about something that seems especially timely: I am a fruitcake proselytizer. What’s more, I have successfully converted a rather large number of previously fruitcake-despising people—and they are legion—to my faith.
Like all zealots, I am discriminatory. My secret weapon in the war against the anti-fruitcakers is a very particular brand of this dessert that has been part of my family since before I was born. It is a cake that has, in addition to winning over the haters, helped to smooth over family crises and even death. Yes, it’s that good.
In my childhood, it was my Midwestern maternal grandmother who bought it. After she died, my father, who
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