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Fruitcake factoid. All fruitcakes are not created equal.

I discovered this early on as a small child when I learned to relish the fervent heavy duty versions. You know the ones I mean. They’re loaded down with every nut and candied fruit known to the Western World. It required both of my hands to hold a single slice.

There are competitors, of course. Take the lame Italian panforte or pannetonne. Way too skimpy; shouldn’t even be called fruitcake. Why, they’re like eating a chocolate chip cookie with only one chip. I mean when you can play a game of dot-to-dot on each individual piece of fruit in your fruitcake, trust me, it’s bogus.

And German stollen is no better. What a wimpy excuse for a holiday treat. The thin sprinkling of powdered sugar is so very wrong—a colossal disappointment in the sweet department. They should call it what it is … fruitfake.

What really puzzles me, though, is why fruitcake gets such a bad rap. Like it’s some kind of joke. Take, for example, those malcontents who use this perfectly good holiday confection as a doorstop. Folks like that need to be put in the corner … facing the wall!

Okay, so I’ll admit that fruitcake is derided by most of mankind. Why, you’d think that Beelzebub himself had baked it. Even sarcastic Johnnie Carson had to get in on the act when he disdained, “There is only one fruitcake in the entire world. People keep sending it to each other.” As for me, that sounds good. Does anyone know how I can get on that mailing list?

You may be aware that fruitcake has incredible staying power. Its history goes all the way back 2000 years to ancient Rome where pomegranate seeds, pine nuts and raisins were mixed together in a barley mash. Hmmmm. Barley mash, you say? And you think it has an off flavor now?

In Victorian England, plum cake—their version of the fruitcake—was a highly popular holiday staple. It later morphed into a traditional wedding cake. Indeed, both Princess Diana and Kate Middleton set a new monarchy tradition when they served it at their weddings. Being the responsible princesses that they are, they were sure to have the floors reinforced under the serving tables.

To create a fruitcake masterpiece, the fruit and nuts must be first dried and then soaked in sugar. Sugar is a good thing for it is what keeps the cake fresh. (And, so what smartypants asked if fruitcake was ever fresh?)

Some recipes call for alcohol or for the cake to be stored in an alcohol soaked cloth. Alcohol, you see, kills any threatening bacteria and allows the cake to last a really really really looooong time. Thank you, Lord, for inventing alcohol. Hiccup!

In every respect, fruitcakes are like your old favorite bathrobe.  Some cakes are still good after 25 years!

One incredibly devoted family has held tightly onto their fruitcake for more than 130 years. By now it’s considered a family heirloom even though it has dried into a solid rock hard chunk. Just think, if everyone in the world sent their unwanted cakes to these folks, they could construct a wall. The Great Wall of Fruitcake.

A woman named Deborah Papier made her feelings known when she sneered, “For months they have lain in wait, dim shapes lurking in the forgotten corners of houses and bakeries. Now once more they are upon us, sodden with alcohol, their massive bodies bulging with strange red and green protuberances. They attack us in our homes, at our friends’ homes, at our offices, at the dentist!—there is no escape. The hour of the fruitcake is back.”

Dec. 27 is National Fruitcake Day. One week later on Jan. 7, it is (disrespectfully) Fruitcake Toss Day. In Manitou Springs, Colorado, this event is taken with the utmost of seriousness. A contest to see who can throw the fruitcake the farthest and with the most accuracy is held like an Olympic event. Some zealots go way beyond simple hand throwing when they use catapults and slingshots. Entry into the contest is one donation to the local food bank. This cannot be fruitcake.

Alas, such universal dis-esteem! With this in mind, I have declared myself a safe zone for unwanted fruitcakes. I’ll shelter them in my newly constructed sanctum sanctorum bunker. I ask only this.  When you mail them to me, please enclose an axe.