Since my mom has been in town, she has been making sure that we are all up to our nuts in foodstuffs. My mother is the kind of cook that can turn even the most unpopular dish into something someone will want to bust a grub on and we are rolling in it. For example, there is an Indian dish called karela made out of bitter melon and most people (including me) will tell you it is either (a) an acquired taste, or (b) flipping disgusting. Like, Indian people don’t even like it much. My mom decided to make a batch of bitter melon last week and when my dude and my sis–in-law reached for it at the dinner table I wanted to signal them like “don’t dooooo it, you’ll barfffff, white people can’t handle dat biznissssss” but then they took a taste and boom, they were both shortly thereafter in love with bitter melon. How does my mom do this? Dark evil mama magiks is the only explanation.
This brings us to the subject of what I like to call The Bitter Melon of Saint Nikolas, otherwise known as fruitcake. We can all agree, as a nation, that fruitcake is fooked-cake, right? This is something that the members of the jury need not deliberate on, correct? Well, we were sitting around the dinner table one night and the subject of the fruitcake and its documented grody-factor came up. And my mom looked at us and threw out a challenge. “You may not like fruitcake, but you will love MY fruitcake.” I was skeptical, until I called my sister on the phone and she confirmed that she hates fruitcake, but she loves my mom’s. Can I get a witness? Apparently, yes, my sister will vouch.My mom spent the other morning making fruitcake. Did you know that proper fruitcake takes like three hours to bake? That should tell you something right there. I mean, are we baking a loaf of bread or are we hardening a brick in a kiln? She baked the loaf, she took it out of the oven, she sliced off a warm piece, she handed it to me. I had hope in my heart. I bit into the fruitcake. I looked my moms in the eyeballs. She looked into my eyes, read my panicked face and said “oops! I failed, huh?”THAT SHIT WAS FOUL, PEOPLE. REPUGNANT.You gotta love a lady that will feed her child caca and then say “oops! I failed, huh?” I mean, I have to respect that. My sister, on the other hand, is an effing liar.


  1. When I was in high school, my mom used to make me drink shots of liquified bittermelon “to clear the skin.” i wholeheartedly agree: Karela (when not prepared properly by a magical mother) is foul. And so is fruitcake.

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