Christmas Fruit Bars

You know how you can sometimes look at a recipe and taste it with your eyes? Well, I looked at this recipe, which contains almost three cups of fruits and nuts to three-quarters of a cup of flour, and knew that it would be dense, sticky-sweet, and gross. 

Gross because . . . 

Granted, candied fruit has its positives. For one, it looks bright and festive in a hot cross bun or a fruit cake–almost as though someone sprinkled tiny jewels into the dough. But then you take a bite and you wonder if you really are munching on small colored rocks. Colored rocks that smell like old socks.    

So, yes, I was skeptical that this recipe would be edible, much less tasty, but the nostalgia factor was high. Candied fruit was something Grandma used in almost all of her Christmas goodies, and I'm guessing that it was a special treat when she was growing up during the depression that followed England’s involvement in the Boer War. I can’t see a container of candied fruit without thinking of her and could almost feel her nudging me from the other side to give these bars a try.

After days of waffling, I gave in to the nudge. 

Making Christmas Fruit Bars

The process turned out to be super easy.  The ingredients for the batter come together in minutes. 

But once I prepared the dates, nuts, and candied fruit, I wondered how they would all fit into that small amount of dough. 

 I tipped them in and gave it all a stir--a step that was perfect for my favorite Dutch whisk--and the batter looked like a thin coating of glue holding all that chunky stuff together.  

The next question was the pan size. There was no hint on the recipe card as to what size to use, so I took a stab at a 9 x 9-inch square, and the dough spread thinly along the bottom as though it was meant to be. 

I popped the pan in the oven at 325 degrees, and have I mentioned that my expectations weren’t high? When the timer rang, the bars had risen more than I expected, and there were hints of the buried treasure peeking up from under a fluffy layer of golden brown. 

The frosting was the next puzzle to solve. The recipe said,  “Frost with butter frosting,” which wasn’t highly instructive. It was, however, permission to improvise. I decided that if the bars weren’t terrific, I could at least make sure the frosting was. The surest way to do that would be to brown the butter.

How to make browned butter

If you've never browned butter before, here's what to watch for. First the butter melts. Then it bubbles furiously. Then it foams. Once the foaming starts to die down, look for browned bits. Like this:

When the butter reached this stage, I took it off the heat and added powdered sugar, vanilla, and a splash of half-and-half. I spread this over the cooled bars, and they actually looked attractive. 

The verdict

Maybe it's not a good idea to give a disclaimer to your family when presenting a dessert, but that's what I did. "This is just an experiment," I said. "I won’t be offended if you don’t finish your bar." And then I watched as they ate every last bite. 

When I took a bite, I was pleasantly surprised. Instead of dense, the bar was light and airy with chewy and crunchy bits throughout. Even the candied fruit wasn't bad--it added an unexpected tang of citrus here and there. And the frosting. . . chef's kiss. 

These bars do have an old-fashioned flavor, but this is one old-fashioned recipe that belongs in my new-fangled digital box. It might belong in yours too, even if you don't enjoy dates or candied fruit. You could substitute any dried fruit you like. Just give it a chop and stir it in. And don't skip the frosting because browned butter elevates everything. 

I think Grandma would approve of my improvisation. After all, she was a fiddler herself, and I'm sure she's delighted she gave me a nudge. 

Try this recipe yourself and fiddle away!