56 days, 17 hours and 44 minutes, but who’s counting???

My Christmas countdown begins, not with the playing of Christmas music in high street stores from the beginning of October, but with the making of the cake. This always happens on my father’s birthday, since it has traditionally fallen in the middle of half-term, which meant that I could still do the cake even when at school. Now that I am removed from the school calendar, the date of the Old Man’s birthday helps me remember both the birthday itself, and the cake. I ordered a massive amount of dried fruit from Tesco’s and dusted off the Marsala- that hasn’t been used, if not since last Christmas Cake Day, then certainly since the last time I made Tiramisu. The fruit sat wallowing hippo-like in the alcohol for two days until I had found my Festive CDs, then the baking could begin.

I always think that a lot of love goes into a Christmas Cake- you steep it in alcohol, spend about four hours tied to the house whilst it cooks slowly, cocooned in layers of newspaper (a good opportunity to singe the edges of news about England’s World Cup defeat) then spend weeks lovingly feeding it more booze, tucked up in layers of foil, until it is unwrapped, smothered in marzipan and Royal Icing and decked out in all the festive finery you can find. I get giddy with excitement at the decorating point. I have a clutch of decorations that I bought the first year I made ‘our’ first cake, and when I dig them out every December, I get a thrill from the memories and a thrill from the building traditions that go with Christmas chez nous. Christmas is all about the love…and maybe the chocolate. But it never begins until after my birthday- 28th November. Only then do I dig out the festive CDs, and play them on permanent rotation.

Oh, and this is one recipe you’re not getting….I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you!