I began making fruitcake three years ago. Every two to four months, I spoon in rum, whiskey, brandy — whatever — so that the cakes retain their bounce and the powerful scent of marinating fruit, instead of hardening into hockey pucks.
It’s sort of a test now to see how long I can age these things, and what will result from doing so. I made one recipe which claimed that its originator had waited eight years to serve some of his fruitcakes.
I started out with about six cakes. After a year, I couldn’t stand it and ate one (it was very small) , just to see how I was doing. Not too shabby. So, I made four more with a different recipe last December.
I’ll probably break down and eat one of the older ones this year. If it’s good, I’ll give one of them to my friend Dave, who is the only other person I know who loves a good fruitcake. I know people make fun of fruitcake, and with good reason. Many of them are gummy and cloyingly sweet. Not these. They are going to be like rocket fuel in a cake.