Fruitcake
I admit it. I like fruitcake. I have always felt that these citron laden confections have been much maligned and battered (get it?) to the point where those of us who are aficionados are embarrassed to admit our secret vice. Those candied cherries and candied little green things that kind of stick out of them are just wonderful. I rank them right up there with dried apricots, also one of my dirty pleasures. There are all sorts of fruitcakes. I got one yesterday in the mail sent by my mother from an outfit called Collin Street Bakery. It was a Texas fruitcake, and everyone knows you don’t mess with Texas. It was also fairly heavy, which seemed appropriate as I was watching the Guns of Navarone on television as I was eating a piece. For a minute, visions of little Nazis danced in my head using those suckers for ammunition in those really big guns. Just kidding. Actually, Collin Street makes a pretty good fruitcake. If someone doesn’t send me one, I usually buy one for myself. There are a