Holiday White Fruitcake

The week after Thanksgiving is always my cleaning week—the week I take stock, take inventory, deep clean the kitchen the way it deserves after two days of serious cooking, make sure everything is properly put away and the cast iron is reseasoned and the big pots are scrubbed and the shelves are organized for December, which comes at you hard in this house because December is church season and Christmas season and my birthday season all at once.

I turn forty-nine on Christmas Day this year. December twenty-fifth, 1969—Bernice went into labor during the Christmas Eve service and delivered me three hours into Christmas Day, which Willie James always said was proof that I was called to serve from the very beginning, coming into the world on the day of the greatest gift ever given. I have always found this a little too on-the-nose as metaphors go but I have never said this to Daddy because it makes him happy and making Daddy happy when he is lucid enough to be made happy is worth keeping my theological reservations to myself.

December is also Advent, which Calvin loves deeply—the season of waiting, of preparation, of anticipating something that is both known and unknown, the way grief is both known and unknown, the way every day after March third is both familiar and strange. Advent is Calvin's season. He preaches four of the best sermons of his year during Advent. I make fruitcake during Advent, not because anyone especially loves fruitcake but because Bernice made fruitcake during Advent and the smell of it—the dried fruit and the spices and the particular dark sweetness of a cake that takes weeks to properly develop—is the smell of waiting, of preparation, of love being made ready for something it doesn't fully understand yet.

I started the fruitcake Thursday. It needs to sit in bourbon and spice for three weeks before Christmas. Marcus never liked fruitcake. Every year he would take a dutiful bite and say it was good in the tone of a boy who loves his mother and does not want to hurt her feelings, and every year I pretended to believe him and we both understood the transaction and it was, in its own small way, love. I baked it for him again this year. He can have his dutiful bite wherever he is now. The fruitcake goes in the bourbon. Advent begins.

This is Bernice’s fruitcake — or as close as I can get to it from memory and a few handwritten index cards that survived three moves and a flooded basement. I started it the Thursday after Thanksgiving because it needs a full three weeks in the bourbon before Christmas morning, and because beginning it is its own small ceremony: the kitchen smells different, darker and warmer, and for a few hours December feels less like something bearing down and more like something being prepared for. I bake it every year. I will keep baking it. The fruitcake goes in the bourbon. Advent begins.

Prep Time: 45 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour 30 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 15 minutes (plus 3 weeks aging) | Servings: 24 slices

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour, divided
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
5 large eggs
1/4 cup good-quality bourbon, plus more for soaking
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup golden raisins
1 cup dried cranberries
1 cup dried pineapple, chopped
1/2 cup dried apricots, chopped
1/2 cup candied citron or mixed candied peel
1 cup pecan halves, lightly toasted
1/2 cup blanched slivered almonds
Cheesecloth and additional bourbon for aging

Instructions

Prepare fruit and nuts. In a large bowl, toss the raisins, cranberries, dried pineapple, dried apricots, candied citron, pecans, and almonds with 1/4 cup of the flour until lightly coated. Set aside. This coating keeps the fruit and nuts suspended throughout the batter rather than sinking to the bottom.
Preheat and prepare pan. Preheat oven to 300°F. Grease a 10-inch tube pan or two 9x5-inch loaf pans generously with butter, line the bottom with parchment paper, and grease the parchment. Set aside.
Mix dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the remaining 1 3/4 cups flour, baking powder, salt, nutmeg, and allspice. Set aside.
Cream butter and sugar. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter and granulated sugar together on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 4 to 5 minutes. Do not rush this step — proper creaming gives the cake its tender crumb.
Add eggs. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. If the batter looks slightly curdled, continue — it will come together once the flour is added.
Add bourbon and vanilla. Mix in the 1/4 cup bourbon and the vanilla extract on low speed until just combined.
Fold in dry ingredients. Gently fold the flour mixture into the butter mixture in three additions, stirring just until no dry streaks remain. Do not overmix.
Fold in fruit and nuts. Add the flour-coated fruit and nut mixture to the batter and fold gently until evenly distributed throughout.
Bake. Pour the batter into the prepared pan(s), smoothing the top. Bake at 300°F for 1 hour 20 minutes to 1 hour 40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean and the top is deep golden. If the top browns too quickly, tent loosely with foil after the first hour.
Cool. Allow the cake to cool in the pan for 20 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack and cool completely. Do not skip full cooling before beginning the aging process.
Begin aging. Once completely cool, wrap the cake snugly in cheesecloth that has been soaked in bourbon and wrung out gently. Wrap the cheesecloth-covered cake tightly in plastic wrap, then in aluminum foil. Store in a cool, dark place or in the refrigerator.
Feed the cake. Every four to five days over the next three weeks, unwrap the cake, brush or sprinkle liberally with additional bourbon (2 to 3 tablespoons each time), re-wrap in fresh bourbon-dampened cheesecloth, and return to its cool, dark place. The cake is ready on Christmas morning, or whenever Advent ends and the waiting becomes arrival.

Nutrition (per serving)

Holiday White Fruitcake — The Smell of Waiting, of Love Made Ready