The Christmas Cake
This past Saturday, the Farmer’s Wife and Hannah took a trip to Mema’s house to make the Cakes. It was felt that Hannah should learn the craft.
The tins, seven small, were lined with foil and buttered in anticipation. Flour (three cups) was stirred in and was joined by a cup and a third of white sugar. Two teaspoons of salt and one of powder, a teaspoon of cinnamon and one of nutmeg were also stirred in. Into this was mixed one cup orange juice, one cup vegetable oil, four eggs, and a third cup maple syrup.
The Farmer’s Wife frowned. “Vegetable oil?” she asked. There were so many better fats than that! Fats that added flavor. Fat of the bacon or lamb varieties. Fats she had at home on the Farm.
But this was Mema’s kitchen and Mema’s teaching, so the Farmer’s Wife held her tongue (And also because she knew how very good Mema’s Christmas Cake was, and how very much she would like one or four).
“Alright,” Mema said. “Now it’s time for the raisins.”
“Raisins?” the Farmer’s Wife asked. “Has there always been raisins in these?”
Mema smiled. “Always and forever.”
The Farmer’s Wife swallowed thickly. She hadn’t known that.
Hannah slid in the raisins, two cups, along with eight ounces pitted dates (they’re probably the reason the Farmer’s Wife never knew about those raisins–they were masquerading as dates), a pound of candied cherries, and a half pound pecans, chopped in half. All was stirred and beaten in the way of three minutes and then poured into the waiting pans, filling each about three-quarters full. They were baked at two seventy-five for around three hours–or until a toothpick comes out clean.
The Farmer’s Wife went home that night and thought about some things. She thought about lard. She tried not to think about raisins. And she convinced herself that surely Mema would forget to add the Brandy–the very best and most important part of the Christmas Cake! No. She had to make some herself.
The next day she went to the store and bought the needed things. Instead of seven small loaf pans, three medium were foiled and buttered. Fresh hot lard replaced the vegetable oil and brown sugar was used to replace the white. And dried cherries were added instead of the vile raisins. Oh, and the Farmer’s Wife just ran out of her Maple Syrup, so syrup of the corn variety was used instead.
Three hours later, the cakes were removed from the oven and set to cool. Once they were, each was flipped over and poked with knitting needles (for better absorption, for those wondering) and doused with brandy– about three tablespoons a piece. These beauties were wrapped in plastic wrap, then foil and placed in the fridge, where they’ll get regular treatments of brandy–say every three to four days, until that blessed day arrives when they are enjoyed–three to four weeks from now.
Now, later that day, the Farmer’s Wife called Mema to confess all. She told of her sneaky ways, citing the very real fear of brandyless Cakes as the cause. Mema laughed and said. “You were right. I didn’t soak them with brandy.”
The Farmer’s Wife’s eyes closed in horror. She knew it.
“I used Rum instead.”
