With snow in the forecast for Saturday, I ran to the Giant Food in full panic mode yesterday.
Not for the standard Oh My God! Baltimore order of Bread, Milk and Toilet Paper. We're all stocked up on that. I had in mind a more basic, more primal, winter need.
Fruitcake! Ah, sweet fruitcake. Say it with me! Say it loud, and there's music playing! Say it soft, and people start to wonder, so just say it loudly, all right?
I know it's the butt of all cake jokes. The stories abound about people being given fruitcake for Christmas and how mad they get, especially since they went out to the drugstore and got a nice Jean Nate Deluxe Travel Set for the person who then turned around and handed them a five-pounder.
I'm never that guy! I will be glad to scoot down to the all-night drugstore and buy you the Super Deluxe Two Weeks in Sunny Paris Jean Nate set if you'll lay a fruitcake on me next Christmas.
I asked for a fruitcake, and Peggy couldn't find one, and then when I went to the Giant to ask for one, the woman in the Bakery Dept. looked at me a little oddly, as if I had asked for porcupine pie or something. And no, they won't be getting more of them in stock, sorry.
But then as I rounded the corner past the gigantic display of paper towels, there was a table with a sign reading "Whoops We Over-Baked!" and there sat four little bricks of joy, with expiration dates well into March, 2013.
Nothing says baking like fruitcaking! I snagged one of those bad boys and took it home, ready to sprinkle it with whisky and slice a little bit every night. If I work it just right, I'll have the last slice while watching Alabama beat Notre Dame on January 7.
Whooo Doggies, do I love me some fruitcake. Hot a-mighty!