When I read Patricia Crotty's tale of her Italian Christmas on Irish Times Abroad this week, I couldn't resist describing the Poland equivalent because, while the Polish Christmas table might look very different from the Italian one, the facial expressions of the natives when faced with Irish Christmas food are remarkably similar.
I’ve gotten used to it over the years, and I love it, but for my first Polish Christmas with the in-laws, I was impressed by the sheer number of traditions that must be adhered to, and the fact that everyone plays their part in these two-day celebrations, much like I imagine Irish Christmases were before television.
The first major diversion from the Irish Christmas festivities is that it all kicks off on Christmas Eve and there is not a drop of alcohol to be had. My mother-in-law is the typical Polish mother who insists on cooking everything herself, 15 different cakes included, and who looks with suspicion on any outside attempt to help.
Battered carp
When we arrive at their house, the freshly-cut, usually enormous, Christmas tree is waiting to be decorated, the last of the cakes are in the oven, and the carp is swimming in the bath waiting to be battered (to death), seasoned and cooked.
Once the tree is decorated, and the carp has been dealt with, we set the table for the “Wigilia” Christmas Eve dinner, at which point the rest of the wider family arrives.
At the table, there are 12 dishes, one for each apostle, comprised of a variety of picked and fresh fish (the carp being the freshest of all), wild mushrooms and salads and, most importantly, the starter of beetroot soup served with cabbage dumplings.
Before we sit down to eat, we break the holy wafer and give blessings to each other followed by three kisses on the cheek (men-on-men action being the norm on these occasions). This is perhaps the most awkward bit for an Irishman at a Polish Christmas dinner, because the blessing needs to be personal, genuine, heartfelt and honest. Less of the, “I wish you have a great year with lots of joy” and more of the “I hope your hip replacement in April is successful and you don’t catch hepatitis at the hospital, and that you’re car doesn’t break down again when you go to the mountains for New Year”.
Strikingly beautiful
Then we sit down to eat the fishy feast, leaving a space for the guest who might pop in (that would be Jesus), with the feast continuing for hours. After the dinner and the cakes are laid out on every available surface, the Christmas carols start and we open the presents. A little known fact outside Poland is that, after English, the Polish language has the highest number of carols. They are not cheerful, rocking around the Christmas tree carols either, but sombre, religious and strikingly beautiful.
Once that’s over, in recent years, I get to work on the Christmas day dinner, the Irish Christmas I was given permission to prepare by the matriarchs and have refused to relinquish since.
While the Polish kitchen is much more aligned with the Irish one than the Italian one, with a genuine adoration of potatoes and boiled vegetables, the simple obsession with food is much more Italian.
Therefore, while my turkey is described each year as a “revelation”, my mother-in-law still insists on preparing an entirely Polish alternative selection, justified often on the basis that grandpa doesn’t like turkey, despite every year eating a hefty amount of it and proclaiming to love it.
The Irish dinner is often followed by the usual selection of dozens of Polish cakes for dessert (trifle is tasty but it doesn’t count as a dessert in its own right since it lacks yeast or flour of any description), and finally, a glass of wine or homemade flavoured alcohol, at which the Poles excel.
With the alcohol comes the inevitable heated debate about current political affairs, sprinkled with the important comparisons to life before the war. And then we all watch Home Alone on TV, another compulsory tradition.
