Fruitcake

You've probably heard that there's like ten fruitcakes in the lower forty-eight states, and they just get passed around from one house to the next each year. I believe it. At least, I have done my best to further the rumor. 

You see, every year my parents send me one. It comes in a cardboard box along with some Christmas presents. Now, don't get the wrong idea - my parents are great cooks. They used to teach bread making at a local community college. My dad even had his own cooking show!

The thing is - who wants to eat fruitcake?

This is this year's.

So like I said, I've continued spreading the rumor by taking fruitcakes and leaving them at Christmas parties around the country. Places like at my in-law's house, which happened to be the plan this year: to conveniently forget to take it home with us after it survived yet another Christmas unscathed. 

But dag blast it if mother-in-law Sue didn't get the better of me. When I wasn't looking, she stuffed the uneaten fruitcake in the bottom of one of our bags. 

You can imagine my surprise when I saw the fruitcake staring up at me in between a Lego car and a T-ball set when we got home. 

I'll get you next time, Sue. 

So a couple days ago I was hungry. And since we had just returned from said in-laws house, we hadn't gone to the grocery store yet. My options were few; and like I previously mentioned, the fruitcake was staring at me.   

I sliced myself a butt end. Lathered about a 1 to 1 ratio of butter to bread. And took a bite. It was unbelievable. 

Unbelievably good. 

I almost didn't want to tell anybody because I wanted it all to myself. But Anna Rose caught me. And now she likes it. Lia still won't give it a try, and Dave Dave doesn't eat anything so hey - more for me. 

All this to say - thanks mom and dad for the fruitcake. And to the rest of you, try something new in 2013. You never know, you might like it!

One less fruitcake in circulation!

You're welcome.