It's the one (and only) time I'm not devoting Cake Time to my own creation - humbling, I know. Pictured above is apparently a "souvenir" John brought back from his Welsh expedition (to a spa and hotel, might I add) in northern Wales last weekend (I say "apparently" because he didn't mention it to me until I noticed it peeking out of a paper bag about four days later). It's called bara brith and it's a kind of Welsh fruit cake (and it cost £1.99, you know, just in case you needed to know).
Brits looooooooooove their fruit cake. Birthday? Fruit cake. Wedding? Fruit cake. Christmas? You guessed it, freaking fruit cake. I mean, no offense, fruit cake is great, but it's like, one of those things you have that's like, a novelty the first time around, and then you have it again ... and again ... and again ... and you kind of throw your hands up in the air and go, "GIVE ME SPONGE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I NEED SPONGE!!!" So yeah, bara brith is a lot like fruit cake but a bit more gingerbread-y. And it's dense. Holding that brick above is like cradling a small baby in your arms.
Try it. Or come on over for a slice and a cuppa.
Bara Brith is everything you describe but worse. A poor man's winter fire side tea, associated with the flickering light from coal fires, austerity post-war Britain/Wales, a bleak necessitous utilitarian supper time restorer, pre all branded and named confections and pre trendier modern version of home made. I believe welsh women really prided themselves on their 'Briths' and I'm sending you an explanatory card, just for fun!
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