After the Last Christmas Party of the Season

The first Christmas Cale Saga continues...

We had a marvelously good potluck Epiphany party after Sat. night mass. Hilarious fun was had by all. As you know it was the first time I made an authentic English Christmas Cake.

[The following is a brief history of the cake-making for those who might have missed it.]
I started before November and when it came out of the oven I was not only unsure if it was actually burned through, but none of my friends want to eat fruitcake, so I couldn't tell where to unload share it with someone.. It simply had to go to church potluck to get rid of it.
This was not the icky fruitcake of America with those preserved faux fruits. Just nice dried fruits. It weighed a good 5 pounds when frosted. The surprise was when I cut the first slice for the crowd. Yes, it was burned about half way through. No problem for these eaters. Rumor of the cake preceded my arrival with it at the church hall. The alcohol content was of particular primary interest.
People came up to me asking if it might be rum or brandy. During November and early December I did not have any rum (not traditional British) nor Brandy (traditional, but expensive), so it had to be bourbon (not British, but in my cabinet). Unsure of how long or how much bathing the cake would need I emptied about half a bottle into the cake which was wrapped and in a covered tin. (later a UK person told me about drizzling tablespoonsful... oh well...)
After a week or so I opened it up when housecleaner Nancy was here. She was shocked that I would use alcohol!! It looked as if it needed more juice as it still appeared dry (and still dark and ugly.) So, feeling a bit guilty, I poured a couple cups of apple juice into it, covered and let it rest. By Christmas I was making the Homemade Bailey's Irish Cream liquor-- far better and cheaper & than the branded stuff. After I gave bottles of my brew to friends-- non fruitcake eaters all-- I still had a lovely amount of the Devlin's left. I poured a bit of the Irish over the British cake and some in me in celebration of national unity. 'Goes down like a treat' as they say.
Although it was sopping moist when I took it out of the tin and slammed it onto the platter, all bumped and burned bits were covered with a frosted layer of rolled marzipan and Royal Brilliant White Frosting (direct by emergency internet blip from cakescakescakes in the UK).
>>>>>>>
>> Back to the party and the cake. I did eat a thin slice. It was moist and sweet & okay. I wish it hadn't been so burned because I would have tasted some of those lovely dried fruits I paid so much for. The burning was an operator error: the small convection oven should have been set at much lower temp. When I noticed that the diners around me going to the pie, cookie, and cake table and cutting themselves massive pieces the size of a layer cake helping (in hopes of getting a buzz, I suspect), I realized that my hope not to have to bring any of it back home might be realized.
At the end two men, one a deaf mute, were haggling over the remains. I cut it in half and they went home happy with large chunks. I shall put them on my Homemade Irish Cream gift list for next Christmas. And probably I shall have to make one more cake, unburned, yet very drunk, before I retire. On the way out of the dinner party the ancient Elfreda sideled up to me and confessed that although she only had a thin slice of the cake, she "felt it go right into her blood... wooo-ee."

I drove away happy and then stopped at the village square to take a blip of the last of the decorations which will come down tomorrow.