If the myth of the one fruitcake being recycled as a gift is true, the myth will die on me. It will not perpetuate once it reaches my door. I would have eaten the fruitcake and not released it back into its supposed cycle of life.

I'm one of the rare few who actually like fruitcake. Happily I'd receive it as a gift or buy it from an enterprising officemate. I would freeze it in its tin foil, unwrap it like a treasure and slice off a piece at midnight. I'd smear low fat cream cheese on it, heat it in the oven, or grate queso de bola on it.

I'm happy that I have it all to myself–no one in my family likes it enough to finish their tiny slice. Other people would probably gladly give up their fruitcake to me because it's not the most pleasant cake to eat. It either has too much alcohol and comes out the nose, too sweet a cake or too many strange fruits and nuts in there.

Still, it makes an appearance in supermarket shelves year after year to claim its place as a holiday cake, hoping that people will change their minds about it. It makes for a nice gift, wrapped fancy and all, but ceases to be that way when it's never opened and is passed on to another person as if it were a communicable disease.

I don't ever remember my mother feeding me fruitcake as a child nor do I remember the taste of my first slice. Bitter, sweet, dark and mysterious, I am drawn to it like a moth. Open the box and I see jewels beautifully arranged on the surface: candied red and green cherries, raisins, orange peel and walnuts. Slice through the dense cake (some have more fruit than cake) and the same fruits and nuts are suspended inside, all of them pre-soaked in brandy. The more nuts for me, the better.

Many a nameless fruitcake has come my way (some in its fairer incarnations, like food for the gods made more festive). An interesting one I've come across is made entirely from local fruits (no cherries or walnuts in there). Aptly named "Fruitcake Filipina," it's a homegrown version created by Erlinda Castro-Sanqui, an award-winning inventor and pioneer in Philippine herbal tea making. Her fruitcakes uses chopped and glazed fruits such as mango, langka (jackfruit), santol, guava, pineapple, guyabano (sour sop), papaya, camias, strawberry, and balimbing. In an old brochure, other fruits like siniguelas, duhat, Philippine grapes and caramay (local cherry) had previously been listed.

Fruitcake Filipina is studded with langka pieces, cashew and other fruits on top. The cake is dense and moist with fruit chunks, some of which has melted into the molasses-colored batter. Unlike the traditional spice- and liquor-infused cake, it has only the sweetened fruits and barely a trace of mellow fruit wines to flavor it.

I know it would take a lot of convincing for most of us to even consider fruitcake. But just in case you happen to have one around the house, at least try even a slice. Maybe you'll like it this year (especially if it came from the more reputable brands). One of my recent discoveries in enjoying fruitcakes–the sweet, toothache-inducing ones–is to mellow them with a glass of milk. Maybe serving it a la mode will also do the trick.   If you like it that way, welcome to the fruitcake tribe.

Rita Ritz Bake House and Food Products. 151 Alley 1, Project 6, Quezon City. Telephone 926-2280, 926-8534.