Texas Bakery Earns High Marks

Newspaper columnist Tanya Barrientos comments wryly on fruitcake, pecan cake and Collin Street Bakery – the Texas bakery made famous for its delicious fruitcake and pecan cake.

Firmly for Fruitcake

by Tanya Barrientos
Philadelphia Inquirer, The (PA)

Each year, right about now, when everyone is thinking about turkey and ham and pumpkin pie, it begins - the unbridled, unremitting, wholesale denigration of fruitcake.

Just say the word and people wrinkle their noses.
The mere mention of the-dessert-that-shall-not-be-named makes normally polite people grimace as if, instead of being a legitimate pastry, it's some no-good cousin to vegetables like beets and brussels sprouts.

Never mind that fruitcake is a holiday classic, right up there with eggnog and plum pudding.

Never mind that underneath all that fancy trimming it's basically a butter cake.

Fruitcake gets no respect.

From now until New Year's, it'll be the brunt of all sorts of jokes and jabs and insults. You watch: Any day now Leno and Letterman will start tossing out zippy one-liners about it being used as doorstops, or hockey pucks or weapons of mass destruction.

"Who in the world eats those things?" they'll say. "Who in their right mind actually likes fruitcake?"

Well, that would be me.

That's right, I'm the one. I'm the nut who pages past the baskets of rosy-cheeked pears and exotic cheeses in the holiday food catalogs, praying that I'll come across an irresistible ring of good, old-fashioned fruitcake.

I'm the lady who walks through the supermarket and actually stops her cart at the cakes-in-a-tin display.

It's not something I talk about much. Because, let's face it, people judge.

Just try mentioning on a first date that you've got a yen for fruitcake and see where it gets you. You might as well say you live with two dozen cats or that you're a lifelong fan of Star Trek.

Still, it's the truth. I'm a fruitcake aficionado. And like any self-respecting person dealing with a character flaw, I blame my mother.

When I was growing up, she believed in baking for only three occasions: Thanksgiving, Christmas and birthdays. I remember watching her line half a dozen loaf pans with parchment paper before she poured the thick, lumpy fruitcake batter with a confident swirl of her spatula.

I remember my head floating on the warm, sweet smell of brown sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg.

I think most people hate fruitcake because they can't get past those bits of green things floating inside them. But, I'm telling you, there are plenty of really good fruitcakes out there without a hint of green.

My favorite is loaded with pecans and pineapple and a touch of clover honey, which I get from the famous Collin Street Bakery in Corsicana, Texas.

The folks at Swiss Colony, the cheese and sausage retailers based in Wisconsin, say they sold about 150,000 fruitcakes last year.

I figure 20 were actually eaten.

Most people I know have never even tried fruitcake, that's how sullied its reputation has become.

If it were up to me, I'd spread holiday cheer by tying people down, blindfolding them, and stuffing my Texas pecan classic down their gullets.

I know, you're probably making an ugly face, or rolling your eyes in disgust.

But, hey, I'm OK with that. I have my cake, and eat it too.

Now, let me ask you, how do you feel about rhubarb pie?

Contact columnist Tanya Barrientos at 215-854-5728 or http://www.phillynews.com