By Karen

Do you make fruitcake? Do you even eat fruitcake?

I have made fruitcake for decades. My parents never made it, nor, so far as I recall, ever served it, so I cannot say why I started this one-person tradition. And it probably will end with me. I really like fruitcake. Weirdly, many do not.

But for now—here’s what I do. Since you asked.

1. About a month before I intend to bake, I buy ingredients. I usually make six big fruitcakes. For that, I need about 21 cups of dried fruit. That much dried fruit weighs a ton, so I have taken to ordering it online. Dark and golden raisins, figs, dried cherries and candied cherries (no green ones), cranberries, glaceed orange rind, dates. Whatever inspires.

2. I put all the fruit in a substantial glass bowl and pour in a lot of dark rum. This glorious mixture steeps for as long as is possible. (If you are inclined to start baking today, no worries. Let the fruit sit in warm rum for a couple of hours and after baking follow step 7—a couple of nice rum baths.)

3. One fine day, maybe a month before Christmas, when no-one else is home to see the industrial-sized mess, it is time to bake. I turn on some loud music—Lady Gaga, Bruce Springsteen. Into the bowl of delightfully mellow fruits goes a half a cup of orange and lemon zest (yes, this is a lot—scrape and freeze your rinds and then put them in the processor for a fast fix), three chopped apples, a cup and a half of orange juice, two cups of chopped nuts (walnuts, almonds, pecans), a cup of crystallized ginger. I mix this all up, feeling free to taste as I go.

4. Then I make the batter. I strenuously beat four sticks of butter, two cups of dark brown sugar, and fifteen eggs—more if they are small. When it’s thoroughly beaten, I add four and a half cups of all purpose flour; a teaspoon and a half of baking powder; five teaspoons cinnamon; three teaspoons ginger; one teaspoon nutmeg; three teaspoons of kosher salt. I beat some more, but quietly, then dump the batter into the bowl to mix with the aromatic fruits and nuts. Mixing is rather an effortful task. The batter is completely overwhelmed by the fruits and nuts, but that’s as it should be.

5. By now I have lined six large loaf pans with parchment paper and butter. The lumpy mixture is scooped into the pans. Some people make the loaves look pretty, but sometimes, like this time, that effort was abandoned.

6. I bake the loaves at 300°F for ninety minutes or so, until a toothpick comes out more or less clean.

7. After baking, I cool the loaves, wrap them in cheesecloth, give them a little rum shower, and leave them in a cool place. In the weeks before Christmas they get a couple more rum showers.

8. Then—I wrap them up in festive paper and ribbon, and give them away—keeping one for myself, to be savored with champagne.

If you have a recipe that has become a holiday tradition, send it along! And if you have another personal holiday tradition, send that along too!