My Wedding Fruitcake

If you’ve seen male homosexuals with low standards and lonely straight ladies with no gaydar walking around crying, here's the reason: I recently got married. Yep, it’s true. I finally found someone to love me for the person I’m pretending to be.

Marriage is a wonderful thing especially if you and your partner don’t get along. Getting married will fix all your problems. Isn’t that right, Liz? At the very least, chances are pretty good someone will get you a bread box. And who can’t use one of those?

Where I come from, weddings are more than shoeless women dancing in a circle to "Celebration" or men in upside-down Bud Gowan cummerbunds. They’re also about eating. And in my culture, it ain’t no wedding unless there are 22 pounds of matrimonial fruitcake making the rounds. 

This is actually 24 pounds.

This is actually 24 pounds.

Traditionally, wedding fruitcake is cut into small rectangles which are then wrapped in plastic, which are then wrapped in paper doilies, which are then tied with a ribbon, which is then lovingly curled with scissor blades so that the ribbon resembles a bad perm.

Cutting the fruitcake is easier if you use a tape measure. Just make sure it's clean.

Cutting the fruitcake is easier if you use a tape measure. Just make sure it's clean.

Guests take the fruitcake home, put it under their pillows before they go to sleep and dream of their true sweethearts. If you’re currently in a relationship, this can be either a good thing or a depressing thing. If you’re like me and forget you put a piece of fruitcake under your pillow, you’ll wake up in the middle of night, wondering why you smell cloves and is this the sign of a stroke? 

The final product.

The final product.

The fruitcake I made for my wedding was my grandmother’s recipe. It has mashed potatoes in it. I usually don’t tell anyone because if you think fruitcake is a tough sell, try getting rid of fruitcake made with potatoes.  

The recipe card. 

The recipe card. 

Since I was marrying an Italian, I knew I’d be up against a tough crowd. Italians aren’t big on fruitcake. However, tell them it’s panforte imported from a monastery in the Tuscan countryside and they’ll think it’s the most delicious thing ever. To be safe, I put 20 bucks inside one of the bundles. I called it a bonus. Some would call it a bribe. Needless to say, there wasn’t one piece of fruitcake left at the end of the night. 

Sweet dreams!