SPEAKIN’ OUT NEWS (Source: Tribune Media News)

Fruitcake by the Christmas Tree (Getty Images)

In December 1989, Johnny Carson lifted a small box on “The Tonight Show” and quipped, “What do you think this weighs? About two pounds.” The box contained a fruitcake, but Carson’s punchlines would prove as heavy as the cake itself, striking a blow to the beloved holiday tradition.

“Nobody eats fruitcakes,” Carson joked. “You put it in a closet, wait a year, and re-gift it.” What followed was six minutes of comedy targeting fruitcake’s infamous density and reputation. While audiences laughed, a family-run bakery in Corsicana, Texas, held its collective breath.

“I saw it all,” said Hayden Crawford, a partner at Collin Street Bakery, the nation’s largest fruitcake producer. “In the ’70s, we were making 4 million pounds annually. Everyone wanted fruitcake. Then came Carson’s joke.”

Though fruitcake jokes became popular, the dessert’s history is rich and fascinating. In ancient Egypt, fruitcake-like creations were buried with the dead, offering nourishment in the afterlife. Romans carried dried fruit and nut cakes into battle, and by the 1400s, fruitcake symbolized luxury in Europe.

As British imperialism spread, so did fruitcake. Its ingredients—spices, dried fruits, and citrus—represented wealth and global reach. By the 1980s, high-end bakers like June Taylor of Berkeley were crafting artisan fruitcakes with premium ingredients. Yet, a growing cultural disdain for fruitcake took hold, tied in part to the stereotype of bland British cuisine.

Collin Street Bakery persevered but noticed a decline in orders after Carson’s jokes. Missteps like low-quality mass production and a cultural shift toward health-conscious eating didn’t help. “Fruitcake is naturally high-caloric,” Crawford explained. “It got swept up in the diet trends.”

The tide has shifted in recent years. Online sales surged during the pandemic, and bakers like Crawford and artisan makers such as Robert Lambert have found new audiences. Lambert, who now operates from Wisconsin, will make 2,000 fruitcakes this year, his largest batch ever.

“Fruitcake is having a moment,” said Becky Courchesne of Frog Hollow Farm, whose fruitcakes use homegrown ingredients soaked in rum. “People are revisiting homemade traditions.” Carson’s mockery may have dimmed fruitcake’s star for a time, but the dessert’s legacy—and its fans—are proving hard to crumble.

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