FRUITCAKE

“The big joke nowadays thanks to Johnny Carson is that a fruitcake will last forever.”

Christmas fruitcake

A recent article printed on 12/22/2024 in the “Today’s News-Herald,” written by Daniel Neman of the “St. Louis Post-Dispatch” struck a nerve with me. Neman’s article was on holiday fruitcakes. He was talking about the edible kind and not a two-legged variety that most of us have encountered in life.

Daniel Neman mentioned how fruitcakes came to get such a bad name, with it lying squarely on the shoulders of late-night television show host, Johnny Carson. Mr. Carson used this traditional holiday dessert in a 1989 joke monologue viewed by millions—criticizing these cakes as being something that people hate to receive as gifts or to eat. Johnny wasn’t speaking for everyone and he almost killed the industry with his baseless comments.

Our family always had fruitcake at Christmas or New Year’s, courtesy of my late Uncle and Aunt Noel McDaniel in Birmingham, Alabama. Mom generally received one as a gift from the various hospitals she worked for. My brother and I could devour a sizable loaf within a few days. I especially loved the green, yellow, and red candied fruit pressed inside.

The big joke nowadays thanks to Johnny Carson is that a fruitcake will last forever. That might be true if they’re frozen, but over time, even covered, they’ll dry out and become inedible. This rarely happened in our household. Dad and Mom liked fruitcake with their coffee while Jim and I had ours with milk or hot cocoa. I’ve been told more than once that fruitcake, like bacon, is unhealthy and plugs the arteries. It’s something about trans fats.

The folks condemning foods like fruitcakes as unhealthy without any scientific proof are the terroristic gadflies of this world. I’ve encountered multitudes of such people over the years—self-proclaimed experts on any particular subject after they’ve read a book, seen something on Facebook, or listened to Doctor Nutcase on an infomercial. For the most part, those offering “free advice” on television end their spiels with an offer to buy pills or books for $29.95.

Erroneous nutrition advice started with friends and acquaintances lecturing me that eggs were bad. This was in the 1970s. According to these armchair nutritionists, cholesterol in eggs was over the top and would turn my veins to stone. I listened to them for a while refusing to eat eggs or drink milk, until hearing later that they’d changed their tune. A three-egg omelet with a glass of 2% milk is now my breakfast of choice.

I’ve been told that red meat will kill me, including soda pop—both diet and regular, decaf coffee, high-fructose corn syrup, prepared frozen dinners, or anything microwaved in plastic. Eggnog is also on that bad list. I even had one person warn me about microwave popcorn with added butter. Supposedly, if the butter aroma is huffed, lung damage will occur. I’ve never been one to huff or sniff popcorn bags. Who does?

The warning I laugh most about regards McDonald’s or fast-food restaurants. More than once I’ve been told after hearing a gasp, “That stuff will lead to a heart attack!” The first McDonald’s came to Anchorage, Alaska, in 1970, and I’ve been eating at the Golden Arches ever since. That started over 55 years ago.

If the food we eat today is so bad, why are people living much longer than they did 200 years ago when vegetables, fruit, and meat were considered free of hormones and preservatives? I try to eat healthy according to what’s labeled healthy by my doctors, and for the most part, I’m successful.

I understand that anything consumed in excess has potential health consequences. Euell Gibbons was a nutritional guru to the extreme. He was a guest on Johnny Carson more than once. Euell promoted Grape Nuts cereal as being healthy and was an advocate of a low-fat high-fiber diet. Gibbons was called a nut cruncher back then by my friends and others. During that time I was a Grape Nuts fan as long as a bowl of sugar was within easy reach.

Euell Gibbons became a practicing Quaker and I have much respect for him due to this alone. Regardless, he fits the fruitcake mold where handing out bogus advice regarding nutrition is concerned. Euell evidently felt that totally foregoing certain foods would keep him around a few more years. Had he stopped smoking cigarettes that might’ve been worth another decade or two.

Gibbons died in 1975 at age 64 of a ruptured artery. Perhaps had he consumed a bit more eggs, pork, and beef he would’ve stayed upright a while longer? We’ll never know. What I do realize is this—somewhere down the pike—we all leave this world. Just because a person is vegan or doesn’t dine at McDonald’s isn’t going to stop such things from eventually happening.

The most important thing to remember here is that it isn’t what we eat, but the plans we’ve made on where we’re going after our ticker stops. John 3:16 tells us how to do that in 25 easy-to-understand words. As a Quaker and a believer in Jesus Christ, Euell Gibbons made that wise decision and so have I.

Before turning out the lights, there’s one last slice of fruitcake left in the fridge. All I need is a tall glass of cold eggnog to wash it down. Partaking of these two delicacies once a year hasn’t killed me yet!

Euell Gibbons

GRANDMA’S HANDS

“I’ve been craving an authentic Alabama pecan pie for several years now.”

Holiday time is upon us. Not long ago, using “eternity” as a guideline, Mama Haynes prepared special food from generational handed-down recipes for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s.

As kids, in the early 1960s, my brother Jim and I helped Mama Haynes “shell” peas or cut snap beans. Several types of peas were served at almost every holiday dinner, with blackeye peas always in a big bowl at the center of the table come New Year’s Day. Eating them was supposed to bring good luck, although none of my relatives ever won the lottery.

I can still recall the unique odor associated with shelling green peas, unlike anything I’ve smelled other than perhaps one counterculture product. The fragrance was very strong if a pod full of green peas was especially fresh. I’m not a hemp user, but I’ve driven by a few marijuana greenhouses in California, and the pungent sweet aroma coming from them is close to the same. I believe my grandparents’ name for marijuana was loco weed. My folks called it Wacky Tobackie.

Jim and I would sit on Mama Haynes’s back porch, simultaneously talking and shelling with her. By the end of the process, certain fingers would be green from pinching hundreds of pods until they were all shelled. Soap and water removed some of the green chlorophyll, although some staining remained. It was no worse than having dirt or grease embedded in my skin, a daily ritual. No biggie.

Both of my grandmas would mash their own potatoes using hand-crank mixers. I’d assist on rare occasions but it wasn’t one of my favorite tasks. The procedure was labor intensive. Mashed potatoes in a box took care of that problem, but they’re not near as good as the real thing, not even the Idahoan brand.

When making a cake or a pie, that was a different story where mixing ingredients was concerned. I’d gladfully help out and even “sift flour” as it was called. Mama Haynes made the best pecan pies, with the nuts gathered locally from Lamar County pecan trees or sent to her from my Aunt Katrulia.  Aunt K’s family owned a pecan orchard near Grand Bay, Alabama.

I helped open the unshelled pecans using a small hammer to crack the shell. The object was to remove the “meat” of a pecan in one piece. It took practice. When she wasn’t looking I often smashed a pecan to smithereens just to see how flat it would go.

Mama Haynes’ pecan pies were made using a special syrup named Golden Eagle. This delicious ingredient is manufactured in a small town in Alabama called Fayette, with the company in operation for almost 100 years. Fayette was originally called LaFayette after the famous Revolutionary War hero, Marquis de LaFayette.

Incorporated in 1821, my brother was born there and I often joked as a boy that he looked Fayette, although I was the chubby one.

After my family moved to Alaska, shelling peas with Grandma Hankins and Mama Haynes became a thing of the past. On holidays, Mom would use her electric mixer to make fresh mashed potatoes, while she still made the scrumptious pecan pies using Mama Haynes’s recipe.

I’ve been craving an authentic Alabama pecan pie for several years now. Some time ago I ordered a jar of Golden Eagle and had it sent via UPS to Arizona. That delicious syrup ultimately came to be used on pancakes, waffles, and biscuits. Why it was never turned into a pie is forgotten history.

This fall, the Golden Eagle Syrup Company announced that they’d be making a select number of large pecan pies, and that immediately caught my attention. Ordering up one before they were all spoken for, it should be here in time for Thanksgiving. With two of my grandchildren traveling from Minnesota to see us, I wanted them to partake in a part of the holiday I’d been accustomed to while young.

The distance this pie has to travel via the United States Postal Service to Lake Havasu City is 1,717 miles. I’m not sure if it’s coming by truck or plane, but when it arrives it’ll be greeted with open arms. My wife wanted to know why I didn’t just order a jar of Golden Eagle, and have her bake a pecan pie. Joleen makes excellent pies but there’s more to having this specific pie than she understands.

My grandparents on both sides of the family lived in Vernon, Alabama, which is only 18 miles from Fayette. There’s something about folks living in that neck of the woods that makes this pecan pie significant to me. It’ll be as close to one of Mama Haynes’ pecan pies as I can get.

Grandma’s hands might not have made it, but the recipe used by Golden Eagle is one and the same as hers.