Every year around this time, we anxiously await the arrival of a package from my dad’s friend Fred. What we crave is a loaf of the most wonderful fruitcake, packed with dates, raisins, and glazed cherries, a raisin bread on steroids, made by Fred’s elegant and gifted wife Patricia. As soon as the loaf arrives, dad opens it up from its foil wrapping, pours bourbon on it, wraps it up again, and hides it from the rest of us until Christmas day. He has to hide it or we would be tortured everyday by wanting to eat it and not being allowed to. I’ve never understood some people’s aversion to fruitcake. Maybe it’s a bit like opera, or anchovies, things for which you need to develop an appreciation. Too bad, really, because this fruitcake is terrific, and it would be a shame not to make it just because one had a fruitcake prejudice.

After several years of my begging dad to see if Patricia would be willing to share her recipe, my father finally got the nerve to ask, and she happily offered to it to us. (Thank you Patricia!) To give you an idea of its appeal here, this loaf I baked lasted a day an a half between 3 people. The minute my dad finished the last crumb he made plans to make another loaf the next day.

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