Taking Tradition Abroad: The Polish Christmas Edition
Opłatek, a traditional Christmas wafer which is broken before the Wigilia. (Photo belongs to acoalcrackerinthekitchen on Pinterest)
“Wait, you celebrate Christmas on the 24th? Is that even allowed? You don’t open your presents in the morning? You can’t eat meat or drink alcohol? And you call that Christmas?!”
Believe it or not, a typical Christian Polish Christmas is apparently shockingly different to what my British friends are used to. And so, to escape the yearly trauma of having to explain the traditions, trying to reassure my friends that I do, actually, celebrate Christmas, and that yes, it is an enjoyable time, I decided to spread the word by writing this article. I invite you to put some kolędy on in the background, get cosy with a cuppa, and let me be the Bethlehem star guiding you to enlightenment!
Actually, before I even start, I will make you jealous – we celebrate St. Nicholas Day (Mikołajki) on the 6th of December, a day when we get a little prezent, a teaser for what’s going to come on the 24th.
And then, why the 24th? In fact, Poland isn’t the only country to celebrate Christmas a day early (Austria, Switzerland, and Hungary, to mention just a few). But Wigilia (think vigil), is the most awaited and celebrated supper of the year. Oh, and the suspense is prolonged by the fact that we are only allowed to start eating once the First Star - symbolic of the star of Bethlehem - appears in the sky. No one is allowed to touch the food before that!
Reflecting on what Christmas used to look like during my childhood in Poland, I cannot help but give in to nostalgia – the memories of being smothered by grandmas, stuffed with carp and borsht, and dragged to Church at midnight for Pasterka – warm my soul. And trust me, I need as much warmth as I can get - I’m writing this as it’s -30 degrees outside in Astana, Kazakhstan, and I dare not even stick my face out the window for fresh air. Living nearly 2000 miles away from your homeland and close relatives is tough, but it is around Christmas time that you realise how truly lonely you are and that if you don’t continue the traditions, well, that’s it. A part of you will disappear into nothingness.
This is precisely why my family, and especially my mum and I, take Christmas very seriously. Because if we don’t show my younger siblings what their traditions are and what they should be proud of, they will forget what a wonderful experience it is to, well… spend a week prior to Christmas running around the shops maniacally trying to find the right ingredients for the twelve dishes (you read that right) and deciding who should butcher the poor carp plopping around nervously in the bathtub. That is if you get your name down early enough to avoid the carp frenzy (last Christmas the local Polish shops didn’t import enough carp, and, alas, for the first time in my life, we had none – a truly saddening experience which I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemies).
My dad, carving the carp. (Photo belongs to author)
So, twelve dishes, you say, and all of them meatless? Well, we do have carp… But Wigilia, above anything, is a fast. And before we even get to eat, we must say grace and ‘break bread’ with one another. A strictly Polish tradition requires us to break the opłatek and share it with our loved ones as a sign of reconciliation, love, peace, and everything in between, as we hug and kiss one another, making Christmas wishes. A typical wish my mum would voice to my eldest brother every year without fail is the following: “I wish you would annoy me less. I know you can try harder, really”.
After this, we finally sit to eat. We have a table laid with borsht (or barszczyk, as we like to call it), kulebiak (Christmas pie made stuffed with mushrooms and sauerkraut, normally dipped in borsht), uszka (Polish ‘tortellini’), and dried fruit compote (or again, kompocik on Wigilia) to mention just a few. Sauerkraut, mushrooms, salads, and fish feature the most. We must, absolutely must, have twelve dishes present, for they represent the twelve Apostles – to have anything less would simply be asking for bad luck. Ah, and underneath the tablecloth we put some hay, to remember the environs of Jesus’ humble birth. And, before I forget, we have a spare plate prepared for someone hungry, who may come knocking on our door.
Every year we try to get a relative or two to come and visit us in our little miserable town up North in an attempt to recreate what we once had. And, our efforts redoubled, it works. Although it is not the magical time which I remember we once had in my hometown, what I have come to realise is that what really matters is the feeling you get from being surrounded by your loved ones on this special day, of supporting one another through this time, and truly leaving any disagreements behind. And what consoles me the most is knowing that no matter how far away I may be from my roots, I will still say my blessings, wish my wishes, and kiss the foreheads of my loved ones as we celebrate together on that special night.
Photo belongs to the author.