Sherry Chapmanby Sherry Chapman
First published in December/January, 2005, Volume 2, Issue 6, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.
Nollaig Shona Dhuit to you now! ‘Tis ‘Merry Christmas’ in my native tongue. (You say it like “null-ig hun-a dit”, if ya care to know.) It is hard to believe that ‘tis Christmas thyme agin. Seems like just yesterrday the Bordens were havin’ their Christmas feast. Rack of lamb they had, and the girls had the house decorated nice on the inside. In my country we’d put holly behind different things: plates, the shelves on the mantels, all the pictures on the walls, anywhere they could peek out of. But the girls said they didn’t want an Irish Christmas as their friends that came callin’ might notice and Miss Lizzie would go down a bit on Fall River’s social ladder. “Definitely no mistletoe,” Miss Lizzie said. “I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Father kiss that old sow,” – meanin’ Mrs. Borden. I says, “That’s not a nice thing to say,” and she told me to watch my tongue. Well, I stuck my tongue out to take a look and she turned purple with rage, she did, and said she would talk to Mrs. Borden about firin’ me. I know that won’t happen, because she don’t ever speak to Mrs. Borden. Now and then I think about talkin’ to those girls about how they treat Mrs. Borden, but ‘twould be nothing they’ve not heard me say before and there ain’t no use in boilin’ yer cabbage twice.
This is my second Christmas with the Bordens and I got my instructions from the Mrs. on what to make special. There’s one thing they specially like. So come on with me into the kitchen, and I’ll show ya how to make “Irish Christmas Cake.” Ya gotta start this recipe the night before.
IRISH CHRISTMAS CAKE
Yer gonna need: A cup of golden raisins, and a cup of black raisins. A cup of dried sour cherries. Cranberries and apricots, chopped up and equalin’ one cup. A cup o’ prunes (take the pits out and chop ‘em). A fourth of a cup of orange peel. And here’s the kicker: 3 big spoonfuls of Irish whiskey. Yer also gonna need a cup and a half of butter with no salt in it. Two and a half cups of sugar. One big spoonful of lemon juice, along with another spoonful of lemon peel. Ate eggs. Just a pinch of salt. Two small spoons of vanilla flavorin’. A small spoon of nutmeg. 2 cups of almonds, slivered. Three cups of a real fine flour they call “cake flour.” (Wade’s carries this, but ya have to ask because it’s behind the counter.) And some powdered sugar.
You take the raisins, cherries, cranberries, apricots, and prunes and stir ‘em up in a bowl. Then ya pour a half cup of whiskey into it and keep it sittin’ there overnight. Every now and then give it a little stir. Yer oven should be at 325 degrees, heatin’ up ahead of time. The oven at the Borden’s don’t have no degree marker on it, so I put my foot in for a few seconds. If I can feel the heat on my ankle but not thru my shoe, it’s about right for the Christmas cake. (And they wonder why my heels get to breakin’ on my shoes.) Grease a tube pan that’s about ten inches around and make a wax paper linin’ for it. Butter, then flour, the wax paper in the pan.
Beat the cup and a half of butter till it’s light, then add yer sugar and beat it till fluffy. Beat yer eggs in one at a time, and add yer lemon juice and peel, salt, nutmeg and vanilla. Mix in the flour. Stir in the almonds and dried fruit, then spread it all in the pan. Bake it until a straw taken out of the kitchen broom comes out clean when you poke it in the cake. That takes almost two hours, so if ya go gossipin’ with the neighbor’s girl over the backyard fence, make sure you’re comin’ back by then no matter who you’re talkin’ about and what it is. Brush the top with a little bit of whiskey and let the cake cool down a short while. Turn the cake out on a plate or, better yet even, a baker’s rack if ya got one. Oh, pshaw! Brush the cake down again with more whiskey. Turn the cake right side up after it’s all cooled down. Any leftover cake can be tightly covered and kept right in the kitchen without usin’ the ice box. You won’t get Winter Complaint keepin’ it out. Remember every time a family member comes into the kitchen to wipe yer face with yer arm or a towel, illustratin’ what hard work yer doin’. An’ it doesn’t hurt none to put a smudge of flour on yer nose for them to see neither. An’ make sure you keep a piece for yerself. Nollaig Shona Dhuit!
