“If prepared correctly, a fruitcake can have a shelf life of more than twenty-five years,” chuckled the toothless betel leaf chomping Chand Ali as he mixed perfectly calculated portions of assorted nuts and dried fruits into a massive copper plate. Twelve-year-old Rani and her five-year-old brother Riju peered over the master baker’s shoulders to ask questions and intricately observe the seventy-year-old in his elements. They were engaged in the annual winter ritual of traditional fruitcake making of the Pyne family in the central courtyard of their palatial residence in North Calcutta’s Maniktala Bazar area of the Indian subcontinent.
“F-L-O-U-R mane (meaning) Maida, E-G-G mane Anda, S-U-G-A-R mane Chini, M-I-L-K mane Dudh, S-A-L-T mane Namak,” went on the old baker spelling out the English names of the cake ingredients from a copy beside him, on which he had been practising writing English in a crooked and shaky cursive font. Over the past few years, every winter, when the old man came to their house, little Rani would tutor him to read and write English, and he would teach her to bake the perfect fruitcake.
“O-L-D M-O-N-K,” slowly read aloud Riju as he moved the little index finger of his right hand across the label of a stout glass bottle with tiny dimples on the surface. “Will you mix daddy’s not-to-touch brown juice in the cake as well, Chand Dadu (grandpa),” enquired the ever-curious Rani as soon as his little brother finished reading the alphabets on the bottle?
“Rum is what kills any bacteria in the cake. You have seen your mother soaking the dry fruits in it for months. This bottle I will add to the dough. It makes sure that you can eat this cake even after many years from today,” smiled and replied Chand Ali, always delighted to interact with the children.
For the next few hours, the old man took great care to precisely measure and prepare a dough of all-purpose flour, white butter, brown sugar, separated egg whites and yellows, baking soda, milk, salt, grounded cinnamon, and un-sulfured molasses. He put in the nuts, dry fruits and the rum in the end and kept on churning the dough with an antique Palash-wood ladle. Chand Ali did not stop till the massive mouth-watering wobbly lump reached a desired texture and satisfaction level.
At the end, when the dough was settled, Chand Ali brought out a secret powder blend from an antique wooden box and sprinkled it all over the cake mix. “What is this that you just added to the cake Chand Dadu,” quickly enquired the ever-observant Rani. “This is my secret cake-mix-spice little one. It is what makes my cake different from everyone else’s,” replied the toothless baker as droplets of betel juice flew from his red-stained lips.
“When I grow up, I want to be a master baker like you, Chand Dadu,” said Rani innocently as the old baker continued with his business.
The earliest recipe for a fruitcake can be traced back to the ancient Roman days, when pomegranate seeds, pine nuts, and raisins were mixed into barley mashes and baked in wood-fired clay ovens. Later on, during the Middle Ages, honey, spices, and preserved fruits started being added. Gradually, fruitcakes proliferated all over Europe, with recipes varying from region to region throughout the ages, depending on the availability of ingredients. During the colonial days, the British introduced this culinary art to the Indian palate.
After finishing his work with the dough, Chand Ali rose and opened his legendary black tin trunk and pulled out several small and rectangular aluminium containers and placed them one beside the other on a blanket of newspapers. Mom now came with a giant roll of butter paper and sat beside the tin boxes, cutting out rectangular sheets with her trusted pair of scissors. Rani and Riju exactly knew what to do next. They helped Chand Dadu apply oil inside the little tin boxes and neatly lay the inner walls with the cut sheets of butter papers.
The master baker scrapped the last ounce of dough from the massive pot with his stout fingers and transferred the contents in the last of the little tin boxes. “Sixty pounds this year Mrs Pyne,” announced the old man, looking at mother, who nodded in approval and went to the drawing-room to share the news with father, who was enjoying a goblet of not-to-touch brown juice while reading one of his favourite novels.
Chand Ali was the last tradesman of his breed. He was the sole surviving cakeman of his kind. His profession took him to the houses of a very select Christian clientele in the city of Calcutta. The master baker would help his clients mix and prepare the dough for fruitcakes and then take it to be baked in a wood-fired clay oven in one of the bakeries in Taltal and get the finished cakes back to his customers’ houses.
This was an old and traditional way of baking huge quantities of cakes by Christians in Calcutta. With the changing times, this way of making cakes was fast disappearing. The year was 2001, and now the global market was more open. Many cake shops had sprung all over the city. Within the next decade by 2013, not only could one buy a cake from a shop but order it online from any corner of the world as well. This old way of cake making was in the last of its dying phase and would soon only remain to be a nostalgic memory of bygone days.
Two days after preparing the dough in the courtyard of the Pyne residence, Chand Ali brought back the rectangular loaves of half and one pound freshly baked cakes. Rani and Riju could not contain their excitement. They had to be the first to taste this year’s fruitcake. No doubt no other fruitcake could beat that which Chand Ali had made.
While the two siblings gobbled lumps of sweetness, father handed over the payment to the old baker saying, “Chand Ali, we are sorry, but this is the last year we will be making cakes this way. The process is too costly and cumbersome. Further, our relatives and friends now seem to prefer the fancier off-the-shelf cakes. They come with fancy packaging and all the bells and whistles. No doubt that no one can bring out the taste that you create, but we simply cannot do this anymore for various reasons. Hope you understand old friend.”
Rani had just heard what her father said and cried loudly as Chand Ali slowly rode away, with the empty black tin trunk tied on the carrier of his trusted bicycle.
Two days later, on Christmas day, when the spirit of festivity was at its height in the Pyne residence, there was an unexpected knock on the door. The ever-attentive Rani dashed to find the old baker at their doorstep. “Hello, little one, I won’t be staying today. I have become too old to bake cakes going door-to-door. I have finally decided to pack my business. As a parting gift, I would like to give you this unique cake that I have specially baked for you. It will last you forever, but you should eat it soon as it has the power to make your dreams come true,” after saying these words, the old man left before Rani could react or thank Chand Dadu in any way.
As the years passed by, Rani did not eat the cake. Knowing it was the last of its kind, she could not muster the courage to eat it. She kept it safe, thinking that one day when she would bake a cake similar to what the old baker had made, she would eat the last cake that Chand Dadu had baked.
Time flew, and Rani grew. Calcutta became Kolkata. Many of the nostalgic charms vanished as the old city evolved with new and charismatic things. Rani was now thirty-two and at a crucial juncture of her life. It is the month of Christmas in 2021. She had graduated from the Indian Institute of Hotel Management (IIHM), with a specialisation in baking cakes. For the past few years, she had been working hard to give fruition to her childhood dream. Finally, she had saved enough money to open her own business. Now she was about to open her very own bakery from the Pyne Residence. All the formalities for her new business were in place.
It was a special month not only professionally but personally too. Rani was to get married to Shekhar, her sweetheart from the IIHM, a fellow student who shared her passion for baking, and together they dreamt of opening their bakery in the ‘City of Joy.’ There was, however, a problem.
“The wedding is just in seven days. Our bakery is also scheduled to open on the same day. Both the things have to be on the auspicious day of Christmas. I will simply not have just any other cake for the wedding, and neither will our bakery roll out its first batch of just any other fruitcake. I have to crack Chand Dadu’s recipe,” said Rani with much frustration as she banged her fists on the kitchen table of her yet-to-open bakery at the Pyne residence.
Hours went by as Rani and her fiance dug their heads to bake several small batches of various ingredients and spice mixes, trying to recreate Chand Ali’s legendary fruitcake. At 4:00 AM, when all their efforts had failed, Shekhar said, “Rani, if I could only eat a piece of Chand Ali’s cake, perhaps I could provide better input in breaking the recipe.”
Rani stood up from her chair saying, “what the hell.” She walked out of the kitchen and came back after ten minutes with Chand Ali’s twenty-year-old fruitcake wrapped in an embroidered cloth, which she had safely stored all these years in a tin box in her closet. Carefully unwrapping the cloth, she delicately placed the cake at the centre of the table.
“Well, Shekhar, since you stood by my side during these last few years, fuelling my dream, you at least deserve a slice of Chand Dadu’s legend,” saying these words, Rani drove her knife across the surface on one corner of her treasured loaf, which she had for so long safely kept. She handed over a slice to Shekhar, and her fiance chewed it without a word, savouring every last morsel of the fabled fruitcake.
“I have never tasted anything like this in my whole life. Why don’t you have a slice too,” Shekhar said to his fiance. As Rani drew the knife on the cake to carve out a piece for herself, she felt something hard scrape on the blade’s edge.
“Wait a minute, there is something inside this cake,” said Rani while carefully pealing the antique desert to find a little wooden box hidden inside the belly of the cake. As Rani broke open the small wooden box, tears rolled down her cheeks. Inside it was a folded parchment paper and on it was written in a crooked and shaky English cursive font the detailed process, the recipe, and the formula of the secret-spice-mix of Chand Ali’s legendary fruitcake.
Copyright © 2021 TRISHIKH DASGUPTA
This work of fiction, written by Trishikh Dasgupta is the author’s sole intellectual property. Some characters, incidents, places, and facts may be real while some fictitious. All rights are reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including printing, photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, send an email to the author at trishikh@gmail.com or get in touch with Trishikh on the CONTACT page of this website.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Trishikh Dasgupta
Adventurer, philosopher, writer, painter, photographer, craftsman, innovator, or just a momentary speck in the universe flickering to leave behind a footprint on the sands of time... READ MORE
Weekend Stories by Trishikh 
Trishikh, that is just such a beautiful and touching story, you have shared . Thank you so much for sharing.
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You are most welcome Corneli. It is my pleasure to have been able to conjure such a tale, which appeals to you much.
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It brings me through joy and tears to go through your words. Wonderful!
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Thank you so much Krishna, your words of appreciation is such a big reward for me too.
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You’re most welcome, you truly deserved the praising. I am indebted towards you for igniting the once lost spark. Thank you too.
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It makes my life worthwhile when I am able to motivate others. So nothing gives me more joy, than being able to help you find a lost spark. We are most welcome.
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25 years is a long time for cake to last!
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Vanya, some fruitcakes do last even longer. That’s the beauty of them.
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so beautifully woven. it’s been a while since I’ve read your work, Trishikh, but you never fail to amaze. the emotions at the end were poignant, palpable.
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Thank you so much. I am so glad that you got to read this little story of mine. I treasure your comment. My stories are going no where, you can read them whenever life gives you the suitable circumstance and opportunity. I treasure your comment. Appreciation acts like magic to my writing spree.
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Thanku trishikh ji… Firstly , for sharing this tale of sensitive yet deep intellect
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You are most welcome. So glad that you find this story so sensetive and deep in intellect.
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And secondly to pay ur esteemed visit to my page and like my poetry.. If you could spare your valuable time.. Plz connect and share ur feedback. Thanx again..
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Sure, it’s my pleasure to visit your page and like your poetry.
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Are u available on social media ?
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Yes I am there on FB, LinkedIn, Twitter, and Instagram. You can search my name.
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Thank you so much Ned for liking and promoting my 50th short story. Such a pleasure to have your constant support.
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I really enjoyed this story and as a lover of fruitcake, it kept my interest. Lovely!
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Thank you so much Valerie. So glad that you enjoyed this little tale of mine. I treasure your appreciation. So happy to find a fellow fruitcake lover.
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Here in the States we are few and far between!
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I think when we have lesser individuals with likings similar to our’s, we treasure the thing even more.
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Great story. Best wishes.
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Thank you so much Michael. Really treasure your appreciation.
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Although, our progress was a little different, my mother and I used to make the same thing. I don’t know about the twenty five years shelf life because most were eaten by New Years. 🧑🎄 Merry Christmas
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Very true, very true, we also love to make cakes and they did not last very long, specially with the unruly band of kids like me and my brothers and sisters and cousins around.
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“Especially with the unruly band of kids like me and my brothers and sisters and cousins around.”
The same in my household. It was gone in one day. 😀
But the long process and many steps recipe in making them gave me a chance to talk to my mother a lot in private. 🙂
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Oh yeah, I very much understand the situation. Making a cake is lot about soul interaction.
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Yes, it is.
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That fruitcake wouldn’t last a day in my house!! We love it!!
https://pacificparatrooper.files.wordpress.com/2020/12/airborne-christmas-e1608381418322.jpg
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Oh you are absolutely right. It is indeed very hard to resist.
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He added his own local, ethnic motifs to the cake. That spice means love to him. Traditional.🙂
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Yes you are right Chand Ali made a special mix of Indian grounded spices, which he mixed in the cake. Most probably it had cardamom, cinnamon, and many other spices, which was written in the parcent (secret recipe). Once again you are right, when you say the spice meant love to Chand Ali. It was a result of his years of love for making the perfect fruitcake.
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Thanks for sharing, Trishikh! I was thinking, a good fruit cake really has an infinite life expectancy because nobody wants to eat the damn thing. 😉
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😂 well, it’s an acquired taste. There are those who do not prefer it and then there are those who are absolutely nuts about it.
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Once again, a marvelous tale! I caught my breath quite loudly at the end.
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So glad that you liked this little tale of mine. Yes, somehow the end came up to my satisfaction. Always treasure your support.
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Wonderful story! Wishing you a wonderful holiday season and New Year of joy and fulfillment in all ways.
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Thank you so much Katelon, may the Joy and Peace of Christmas resonate in your inner being too. Heartfelt greetings of the season and a hope-filled 2022 to you, your family, friends, and loved ones too.
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Thoroughly enjoyed reading this one. Great story!
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Thank you so much Satish, so glad that you liked this Story.
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So beautifully crafted story full of emotions and feelings. Timing of posting this story is also perfect. The secret recipe would certainly come handy to both Rani and Shekhar. A brilliant piece, Trishikh once again 😊
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Thank you so much KK for your ever encouraging words of appreciation. Yes, this being my 50th story, wanted it to be special and released on a special date. Somehow everything worked out and I am happy.
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You’re more than welcome, Trishikh. I’m happy for you to achieve this feat of storytelling. Congratulations 🎉
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Ich wünsche Ihnen ein gesundes und glückliches Weihnachtsfest! und ein glückliches neues Jahr!
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Thank you so much.
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What a wonderful Christmas story! The ending couldn’t be better!
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Thank you so much Stella. So glad that you liked the story. Yes, I too am happy with the ending. It just came out good.
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Beautifully written story. Makes it more interesting since it’s Christmas season. Thank you for sharing.
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Thank you Chitrangada for liking the story. Your appreciation gives me great joy.
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Awesome cake… I love cakes
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Thank you so much. So glad that you liked my story.
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Wonderful story!
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Thank you so much. Really appreciate your appreciation.
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Gosh, I love Chand Dadu.. It’s always a treat to read your stories. Happy 2022!
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Thank you so much. Your words of appreciation gives me so much joy. So glad to have been able to bring forth a story that could touch the heart of its readers.
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Güzeldi
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Thank you.
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Your 50th story! That is a milestone worth celebrating. And this tale has all your constant strengths of kindness and time-honored traditions flowing into the present in surprising ways. Delightful, Trishikh.
I do love good fruitcake, too!
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Thank you so much Annie. This journey or writing is worthwhile because of friends like you, who have constantly supported and appreciated me.
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What a heart warming story!
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Thank you so much Sonia. So glad that my little tale touched your heart.
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A wonderful, heartwarming story! Chand Ali lives on through his special gift to Rani.
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Yes you are right. The legend of Chand Ali does live on.
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A beautiful cooked up tale 🍰
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Thank you so much Lesley. Always treasure your appreciation.
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Beautiful story…twenty five years shelf life of cake…amazing 🙂
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Thank you so much Sutapa. So glad that you liked the story. Yes, fruitcakes made with alcohol and wrapped in alcohol soaked cloth for storage have survived for more than 25 years. This is true.
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Great👍
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This story reminds me of my mother’s pre-Christmas baking marathon; we also had, like most people in those days, our own family recipe for making Christmas cakes. You described it correctly those cakes differed all over Europa depending on the availability of fruit and ingredients, whereas the English fruitcakes were possibly the most lushes, having the trading advantages of oriental spices and fruits. They became more austere the further you lived towards the east. And equally the day came when my mother stopped baking because we children had developed the taste for the more fancy wares of the supermarket. I knew she was disappointed in her heart, but changing fashions do care little about withering traditions.
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This thoughtful comment of yours makes writing this story so worthwhile. Yes like your family, we also used to bake cakes in the way described in the story. Making cakes used to be a big event and affair before Christmas in the family. This story is inspired from my childhood experiences, and like you we witnessed the shift from traditional cake making to fancier options.
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Beautiful image too.
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Thank you Tina. Just a stock image.
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Thank YOU Trishikh for visiting my blog.
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It is my pleasure.
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mine too
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Thank you so much for promoting this story of mine.
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You shared beautiful story.
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Thank you so much. Really treasure your kind appreciation.
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This story entices me to appreciate the holiday gift of a fruitcake for the first time in my life. Happy New Year.
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Oh! That is such a beautiful thing to say Usfman. So glad that you liked the story. Really treasure your comment.
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Nice surprise at the end. I like how the story chronicles the change in business ventures, and coming full circle again.
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Thank you so much Rebecca for liking the story, and specially the surprise at the end. So glad that you liked the chain of progression of the cake business in Kolkata.
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This is such a beautiful and charming story, Trishikh! You really put your heart and soul into it. It made me happy and sad at the same time. Sad because of changing conditions and times, and happy because the old man so lovingly put his whole self into his fruitcakes and made the children so happy. I am so pleased that he passed on his recipe to Rani. She, clearly, will put the same love and dedication into her fruitcakes. This is a wonderful story for any time of the year. Thank you! Very inspiring.
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Thank you so much Dawn. Your kind words fill my heart with boundless joy. Yes, you are right, the mixed emotions of joy and sadness somehow blended well in this story. I am so that that it came out the way it did.
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Perfectly!
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Giving back is always sweeter than receiving… regardless of the years that have rolled on by…!
🇯🇲🏖️
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Very true, nothing beats the joy of giving.
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soul touching ….
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Thank you so much. Really appreciate your appreciation.
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Beautiful story
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Thank you so much Rishika. It really makes my day when someone appreciates one of my stories.
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My pleasure
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The pleasure is mine too.
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😍😍
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🙏🙏 thank you so much.
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I have to be honest and tell you that I did not like your writing, I LOVE IT!
Joanna
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You are too kind with your words of appreciation. I can’t thank you enough. There are many more stories in my blog, do read them whenever you like. I am sure you would love some of them.
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Aha! This is very touching.
I wished it continued though, but I really love it.
Another great Piece Trishikh!
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Thank you so much Emmanuel. Always look forward to your appreciation. Really treasure them.
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It’s my pleasure every time to read your beautiful stories.
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The pleasure is mine too Emmanuel.
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You have a magical gift for story-telling. This tale drew me in immediately with its rich depth, believable characters and singular charm. In a word, it’s beautiful. So well written and obviously a labor of love on your part. Thank you for sharing this with us, good sir! 🙂
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Dear Mike, reading your words of appreciation brings tears of joy in my eyes. My greatest reward is when someone likes my stories. Really treasure your comment. Do come back and read some of my other stories, I am sure you would love a few of them. I try to write and publish one story every weekend, however have not been keeping well for quite sometime now, so there has been a gap in writing, which I hopefully will mend by next week.
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A wonderful and entertaining story Trishikh. It seems to this chef that you have a wonderful recipe for telling stories! Happy New Year. 🙂
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That is a great honour to me, coming from a great chef like you. I really treasure your comment. Thank you so much for liking the story. Appreciation really makes my day.
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Wonderful story Trisikh da!!
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Thank you so man Suman. So glad that you liked the story.
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Such a beautiful, heart touching tale…. wonderfully penned…I am a fan ..
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You honour me greatly Piyush. Nothing gives me more joy, than when someone appreciates one of my stories. Thank you so much.
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You’re always welcome Trishikh….keep telling such wonderful tales..
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Thanks Piyush, encouragement works miracles for writing stories for me.
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Beautiful story , I think Chand Ali saved the secret recipe for his grandchildren but I really didn’t know that fruit cake can stay well so long! Thanks for sharing 💕😊🎉
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Thank you so much Priti for your lovely comment. Yes, if prepared correctly fruit cakes can really last a long time. Though most of the fruit cakes you buy from the shops will spoil after sometime.
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Yes it is true. Wishing you happy 2022. Stay blessed.🎉😊
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A very happy and blessed New year to you and your loved ones too. Stay safe, stay healthy, stay happy.
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Thank you very much.🤗🤗
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You are most welcome Priti.
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🤗🤗🤗
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Reblogged this on ONLINE CREATIVE WRITING COURSE and commented:
enjoy
“the world’s absolutely worst chef and baker”…
“just a momentary speck in the universe flickering to leave behind a footprint on the sands of time”
https://writeintothelightbook.wordpress.com/2020/11/13/footprints-in-the-sand-7/amp/
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Thank you so much Craig for reblogging my story. Really appreciate your constant support.
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a pleasure, Trish- you write very well with uplifting material
All the best
craig
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I am deeply honoured Craig.
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Amazing post. Thank you for following me. Looking forward to reading more of your work
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It would be a great honour and pleasure for me to have to read my stories. I try to write and publish one story every weekend. There are many more stories in my blog, do come over and read some of them when you feel like. I am sure that you would love a few of them. I is my pleasure to follow, like, and comment on your blog too.
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