Fruitcake and Eggnog. Yay or Nay?
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I love your story. A taste of love. Taking them back to a m oment in time.
That's a charming story. Thank you for posting! It's sorta like after my own Grandma died and her daughters tried to remake her peach cobbler. After a number of tries, they got pretty darn close, if not spot on.
If there is a Heaven, she's there now, making that cobbler to murmured and prolonged appreciation.
Fruitcake - no.
I can't drink egg nog (lactose intolerant), but I used to enjoy a very small amount with bourbon mixed in.
I can't drink egg nog (lactose intolerant), but I used to enjoy a very small amount with bourbon mixed in.
on fruitcake and on eggnog (even spiked)!!! And just for good measure... 
I've had fruitcake that I liked, loved, and hated. So I guess I can say that I like fruitcake, depending on how it's made.
But I looooove eggnog! It's my favorite part of the holidays! No liquor, maybe a sprinkle of cinnamon or nutmeg, and mmmmm. And that thick texture is a must for me; if it tastes like 2% milk I ain't touchin' it.
I wonder how a good fruitcake would taste with eggnog drizzled all over it...?
But I looooove eggnog! It's my favorite part of the holidays! No liquor, maybe a sprinkle of cinnamon or nutmeg, and mmmmm. And that thick texture is a must for me; if it tastes like 2% milk I ain't touchin' it.
I wonder how a good fruitcake would taste with eggnog drizzled all over it...?
Eggnog -- done correctly -- is okay once a year, but the very existence of fruitcake baffles me.
Of course, the old joke is that there are really only a handful of fruitcakes in the world and we just keep re-gifting them to each other over and over again.
Here's my funny nog story:
Once -- in the long, long ago -- I was invited to a Christmas party at the home of a girl I had only recently met. We had been corresponding (which was done by an antiquated system called "mail" in those days) while she was off at school in upstate New York and this was my chance -- it seemed to me -- to ingratiate myself with her family. Faint hope. It was a fun party. People really are more holly and jolly at Christmas, it seems to me. Or maybe I'm remembering it better than it was.
Anyway, there was a wonderful buffet set up in the dining room that contained -- among other delights -- a giant punch bowl full of well-spiked egg nog. Now, this dining room also had a hard-wood floor which had, we were all repeatedly told, been freshly waxed and buffed. It was beau coup slippery, in other words. That was no problem at first, and I remember thinking that Karen's mom was going a little overboard with all the "Be careful."
She wasn't.
I don't remember how many nogs I had. Too many, however many it was. This was at a time when I still thought "loosening up" was an effective use of alcohol. I didn't get to acting foolish or anything, but what did happen was this: After however many cocktails we decided to have something to eat. So we addressed the buffet and, after filling our plates, drew up chairs away from the table to dine and chat. If I had noticed how easily those wooden chairs were sliding across that freshly-waxed floor, what happened next might have been avoided, but I didn't. So when I sat down, I did so not carefully at all, and that chair -- with me in it -- slid about four feet backward and right into the breakfront containing Mother Lavachia's fine crystal. I only broke the good punch bowl and two cups (only), and everybody made a great show of making no big deal out of it.
But we had all been warned -- over and over again -- about that slippery floor and I could tell that what was not being said beneath all of that "Don't worry about it," was "Idiot!" I felt pretty bad, and didn't have any more egg nog that night and the rest of the party went about as well as could be expected. But when I wrote Karen up in Utica after the first of the year, she did not write back.
So the moral of the story is . . .
I don't know.
Merry Christmas, I guess.
Of course, the old joke is that there are really only a handful of fruitcakes in the world and we just keep re-gifting them to each other over and over again.
Here's my funny nog story:
Once -- in the long, long ago -- I was invited to a Christmas party at the home of a girl I had only recently met. We had been corresponding (which was done by an antiquated system called "mail" in those days) while she was off at school in upstate New York and this was my chance -- it seemed to me -- to ingratiate myself with her family. Faint hope. It was a fun party. People really are more holly and jolly at Christmas, it seems to me. Or maybe I'm remembering it better than it was.
Anyway, there was a wonderful buffet set up in the dining room that contained -- among other delights -- a giant punch bowl full of well-spiked egg nog. Now, this dining room also had a hard-wood floor which had, we were all repeatedly told, been freshly waxed and buffed. It was beau coup slippery, in other words. That was no problem at first, and I remember thinking that Karen's mom was going a little overboard with all the "Be careful."
She wasn't.
I don't remember how many nogs I had. Too many, however many it was. This was at a time when I still thought "loosening up" was an effective use of alcohol. I didn't get to acting foolish or anything, but what did happen was this: After however many cocktails we decided to have something to eat. So we addressed the buffet and, after filling our plates, drew up chairs away from the table to dine and chat. If I had noticed how easily those wooden chairs were sliding across that freshly-waxed floor, what happened next might have been avoided, but I didn't. So when I sat down, I did so not carefully at all, and that chair -- with me in it -- slid about four feet backward and right into the breakfront containing Mother Lavachia's fine crystal. I only broke the good punch bowl and two cups (only), and everybody made a great show of making no big deal out of it.
But we had all been warned -- over and over again -- about that slippery floor and I could tell that what was not being said beneath all of that "Don't worry about it," was "Idiot!" I felt pretty bad, and didn't have any more egg nog that night and the rest of the party went about as well as could be expected. But when I wrote Karen up in Utica after the first of the year, she did not write back.
So the moral of the story is . . .
I don't know.
Merry Christmas, I guess.
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Throughout the Season, BH will have one cup of Eggnog.
My sister in Florida is making her white fruitcake to send to us before she leaves for London for the holidays. She will not give me the recipe! Anyway, its the only fruitcake the family likes.Throughout the Season, BH will have one cup of Eggnog.
Thank you!
I make fruitcake every year and love it. I hate slimy ole eggnog.
I do not understand why some people will not share family recipes. Why not pass the goodness on to future generations?
My Paternal Grandmother was a great cook. She would give up her recipes, but only if begged to do so and, then, she would leave out one ingredient so that no one else's dish would be as delectable as her. Why do this??
I used to favor dark fruitcake over white, but my tastes have changed over the years and I now prefer white fruitcake.
Eggnog -- only in very small amounts and only with a nip of rum in it.
Eggnog -- only in very small amounts and only with a nip of rum in it.
I don't like fruitcake at all. I've never had any that I liked, candied fruit is 
.
I do like eggnog a little. Spiked or not. it just has to be a small amount...like maybe one tiny glass a year.
.I do like eggnog a little. Spiked or not.
it just has to be a small amount...like maybe one tiny glass a year.
That's just rum cake, silly!View attachment 13415
I do NOT like candied fruit. I used to try to pick it out of the cake. I like the rum soaked cake, I wish you could buy fruitcake without the fruit lol. I adore eggnog though
As a few others have said, I have had fruitcake that I like and seen some that I couldn't even bring myself to taste, so it's mostly a nay, thankee!
Eggnog is good in small, spiked portions!
...mehggnog....fruitmehake....
Yuck on both! My daughter likes eggnog and my husband likes what he calls "properly made fruitcake," whatever that is.