Yesterday, the San Francisco Chronicle Food and Wine section included a poem, “Mom’s Fruitcake,” by my wife, Stephanie McCoy, recounting the story of Steph’s late mother’s traditional Christmas fruitcake and its lasting meaning for her family. (That’s one thing we can all agree on about fruitcake—it lasts!) The poem is a beautiful read (I am not, of course, at all biased) and reminder, to those wearied by the excesses of the holidays, of some of the essential beauty of the season, the enduring power of what we make, and the enduring spirit of mothers, even those now passed, who make the season one of joy. Read it here…
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!
Jane McCoy’s Christmas table, featuring her fruitcake.
A lovely story and poem, bringing back memories of my own mother’s Christmas fruitcake and Plum Pudding. As kids we were organized into an assembly line to help with the preparation, and you can be sure that our fingers also surreptitiously swiped the batter during all the stages, especially after the addition of some fine Irish whiskey! Thanks for sharing.