Message in a Fruitcake

Ever wonder about the meanings behind gifts? Certain presents convey benevolent thoughts: flowers can say "I love you," "I'm sorry," or "Get well soon," candies say, "I think you're sweet," and a food basket can announce, "Welcome to the neighborhood." Gift cards from credit card companies or popular stores are a kind way of saying: "You're too picky to shop for," or "I have no idea what to get you." But there is no mistaking the hostility hidden in a gift of holiday fruitcake. Nothing says "I hate your guts" more than this weighty weapon posing as holiday cheer. Is there even an appropriate response to such an abominable offering? My most honest reply would be, "Gee, thanks for this rock-hard coagulation of petrified fruit. I'll keep it by my bed in case I need something heavy to throw at a burglar." A fruitcake is a passive-agressive gift if there ever was one, a way of saying "go to hell" under the guise of generosity. Don't be fooled by the festive wrapping or the inclusion of the word "cake" in its title. There is nothing remotely cake-like about this phony dessert with its brick-like texture. I've heard the joke about there being only one fruitcake in the world and how it keeps being passed around through re-gifting. It seems more likely that all the fruitcakes in the world were made at the same time, circa 1800. As long as there are malicious people in this world unable to say "f**k you" to your face, there will be givers of fruitcakes. If you truly despise someone and you're too lazy to slash their tires, throw eggs at their window, or spraypaint profanities on their property, consider doing this instead: show up at their house with a shit-eating smile, belt out a Christmas carol completely out of tune, and present them with this centuries-old way of saying, "drop dead." I'm relieved that no bomb-laden fruitcakes have arrived for me, but that doesn't mean my enemies are idle. I'm likely to be hit in the face with a pumpkin pie by any of those who disliked my previous commentary entitled "Pumpkin Pie Controversy."

Pumpkin Pie Controversy

My friend JP is trying to repeal a ban against pumpkin pie, protesting that it’s unjust and unfair. It's not unjust and unfair if you understand the rationale behind the proposition banning this unsavory concoction. Pumpkins are a species of squash, which is a subset of the vegetable family. Pies belong in the dessert classification designed to breed with sweet flavors such as fruit, chocolate, custard, or my personal favorite: whipped cream. People who like pumpkin pie are usually the same ones who enjoy pineapple in their pizza, another atrocious union that should be banned. In the past, certain cross-breeding experiments have produced wonderful offspring: carrot cake, zucchini bread, chicken pot pie, to name a few. But let not these exceptions open the door to distasteful gastronomic marriages in the name of culinary diversity. In deference to my Chinese heritage, I admit that my people have introduced controversial creations such as sweet and sour pork, egg rolls that contain no eggs, and bird’s nest soup. Who am I to throw stones when I come from a culinary tradition that includes cow intestines, chicken feet, and nameless other animal parts. I guess it all comes down to tenure and power. The pumpkin pie lobby is young and poorly funded. It struggles for recognition alongside groups like “Citizens for Chocolate Covered Brussel Sprouts” and “Cauliflower Candy Corps.” To prove that I am not blatantly prejudiced against pumpkins as a minority group, I have in the past enjoyed pumpkin seeds, pumpkin ravioli, and pureed pumpkin soup. I can embrace individual constituents without subscribing to the whole party line. Give it up, pumpkin pie lobbyists. In life, love, and political food fights, you can’t win them all.