This morning I woke up with total certainty that it was time to get out my grandma’s measuring cups and make her fruitcake. Say what you will about fruitcake (#hatersgonnahate), this annual ritual of conjuring my grandma brings me great comfort. It also reminds me to re-read Truman Capote’s A Christmas Memory, which is probably the most beautiful story ever written with fruitcake in the plot.

For the record, my grandma’s recipe is more like a Dundee cake. There is no rummy nutty goo, it’s all about the smoky tang of slow baked dried fruit. Mmmmm.