Every December brings more panettone than the last. My local fancy ingredients shop has cleared out half its fancy ingredients and replaced them with panettone. My local Wilko has cleared out half its stationery supplies section and replaced it with panettone. I went out to buy fancy anchovies and some masking tape and both errands were scuppered by panettone. Places I bought some salt from once in 2017 are emailing me repeatedly to declare that it's panettone time.
- no thank you
- I do not like to eat panettone
- look it's okay to have a cake you love that tastes bad, I personally love lamingtons
- the standards set by fruit cake have, I suppose, left the UK uniquely vulnerable to the concept of cake so disappointing that you can leave it in a box for months with no appreciable loss in quality
- panettone versus fruit cake? A difficult question. The intense solidity of the fruit cake smashes into the panettone, the panettone's yeasted resistance gives but refuses to rupture, the fruit cake becomes denser and denser as it pummels into the panettone's unyielding side, a few crumbs come loose and fall to the ground but the body of the fruit cake grows denser still, it starts to collapse under its own weight, gravity has taken it, surely mutual destruction is inevitable, and yes, the panettone seems to be giving way at last. But then—instead of tearing it simply envelops, the panettone's gentle bulk folds over the vibrating mass of the fruit cake and swaddles it entirely. Behold. Behold. A perfect sphere, poised between life and death. After what seems like an aeon, the panettone shudders, and then springs back all at once into its original shape; it is as if the fruit cake was never there, save for a few scattered crumbs which alone remain
- pandoro is pretty good though








