Mince Pies - Episode 2 - The Pies

When I posted on Facebook that I was going to make mince pies, a friend of mine commented "Yuck!". Born to English parents and having spent a lot of time in England, she still had never become fond of all those fruity cakes and pies.

And I understand that. These flavors are alien to our new world palates, where chocolate and marshmallows abound. The flavors of fruit cake, plum pudding and mince pies are much deeper, darker, even danker. But the memories of them surprise me with the strength with which they glow.

When I think of fruit cake, I see Granny Hoban's strong arm mixing in the ingredients with a wooden spoon. It's the same shape arm I now see on my aunt and my sister and me. As children, we helped her by measuring and pouring, while she did the hard work of mixing all those raisins and sultanas and nuts and peel together.

And when the cake was baked and cool, my mother would put on the almond icing. And we would get to decorate it with the white icing. Made from scratch, this icing would harden to a rock solid shell - any peaks and swirls we created were entombed in the icing. When we went to eat it, those points would scrape our gums and the silver balls would crack our teeth. But past those guardians were the delights of the sticky marzipan and juicy fruit. We would chase the crumbs around our plates.

I am not too fond of plum pudding. But I will always eat a little because it was the finale of Christmas dinner, coming in shrouded in flame, with a big jug of hot custard to swamp it with. And I do like custard.

But mince pies are wonderful, especially when the pastry comes out solid yet flaky, as mine did this year, and it holds and encompasses the fruit mixture.

Perhaps mince pies are an acquired taste, something from a earlier age, out of Charles Dickens. In which case, I have acquired the taste for mine, and that is a very fine thing indeed. God bless us every one.