The Color of Christmas is Orange

Finding gratitude in simple pleasures

Winters in Sweden are notoriously dark. I can remember cross-country skiing in northern Sweden with my cousin, Mats. We put our skis on as the sun was rising at 11:00 am and finished at 2 pm, just in time to watch the sunset.

To punch a hole through the darkness, the Swedes fill their homes with the warm glow of candles and put electric candelabras in their windows. It’s a physical embodiment of the comfort, pleasure, and being in the moment that they call mysa. You might recognize it as hygge — the Danish quality of comfort and coziness that has found a following in the US.

They also celebrate the start of the holiday season with a festival of light: Santa Lucia. Tradition holds that on the morning of December 13th, the eldest daughter dons a white gown and a crown wreathed with evergreens and candles. Then, accompanied by the singing of the Italian song, Santa Lucia, she greets her family with a tray of saffron buns. And don’t worry — these days, the candles are usually battery-powered.

This holiday, commemorating an Italian saint who symbolizes the bearer of light and bringer of hope, marks the start of the Christmas season in Sweden — not decorations, toy displays, and Christmas music clamoring for space with Halloween candy and costumes. Doesn’t that sound like mysa?

As the eldest daughter in my family, I cherished my role as Santa Lucia. When my own daughter became old enough, seven seemed about right, I couldn’t wait to pass my white gown and battery-operated crown of candles on to her. I put the crown on her head, handed her a tray of coffee and buns, and asked her to take it to her dad. She was having none of it – scared that her long brown hair would catch fire. I laid the crown and the tradition on the shelf.

Not all of the Swedish Christmas traditions I grew up with fell away. My kids and Dear Husband all enjoy the smorgasbord I put out every Christmas Eve. It is an admittedly selfish act on my part as I set a table laden with all the comfort food of my childhood: pickled herring, salt-cured salmon, assorted cheeses, Swedish meatballs, red cabbage, and the potato sausage, which my mom and her Nordic friends used to spend an entire day making.

There are traditional dishes that do not make it to my smorgasbord: Jansson’s Temptation, a beloved dish of potatoes and anchovies that I cannot stomach, and lutefisk, which was actually banned from my childhood table after my father saw that the lye-soaked fish turned our silver forks gray.

These days our gatherings are small. Sometimes just my Dear Husband, son, and me. I’ve mentioned that maybe we should keep things simple. Not do the smorgasbord. But even my decidedly unsentimental son is adamant. The smorgasbord stays.

Another tradition from my childhood that I’ve passed down to my children is the gift of an orange in their stockings. My mother grew up in northern Sweden during World War II. Times were hard and food was rationed. For Christmas, her special gift was an orange.

I’ve got to believe that the gift was accompanied by woolen underwear and knitted socks, but it was the orange that she remembered. A gift that must have seemed especially exotic in a place where the snow was piled so high she could jump out her second-floor window.

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

I imagine my mother as a little girl pulling that orange out of her stocking, the pith collecting under her nails as she peeled it. Popping a slice into her mouth, she’d savor its citrusy flavor as the juice ran down her chin.

Is there anything better than the absolute joy found in the simple pleasure of eating an orange?

Photo by Xiaolong Wong on Unsplash

Each year I put an orange (albeit these days it’s more likely to be a chocolate orange) into my adult children’s stockings. I imagine they’ve forgotten the significance, but I hold it like a secret close to my heart. To me, the orange represents gratitude for the simple, but profound gifts in my life.

The holidays can be a lot for some people. When my kids were tweens and Christmas had become more about work and unmet expectations than magic, I used to want to go to bed at Halloween and wake up on January 2nd. Now, I’ve found that what anchors me are just one or two simple, pleasurable traditions and an orange in my stocking.

What are the simple pleasures that you find in your day, in your holiday?

Here’s a recipe for Lussekatter, the saffron buns, which are traditionally made for Santa Lucia Day

Lussekatter

Ingredients

4 T. melted butter

1 Cup warm milk

½ t. Ground saffron

1 ½ t. Active dry yeast

3 ½ cup flour

½ t. Salt

½ t.cardamom

⅔ cup sugar

1 egg beaten

Raisins

• Preparation

• Step 1

• Place the butter and milk in a medium bowl. Using a mortar and pestle, grind the saffron with a pinch of the sugar, and stir into the mixture. In a large bowl, dissolve the yeast in a little of the lukewarm butter mixture, then add the remaining butter mixture, the remaining sugar and the salt.

• Step 2

• Gradually add enough of the flour (almost all of it) to make a workable dough, kneading for 10 minutes by hand or 5 minutes in a mixer with a dough hook. Shape into a ball, sprinkle with a little flour and cover with a cloth. Allow to rise in a warm spot for 30 to 45 minutes.

• Step 3

• Transfer the dough to a floured work surface, and knead in additional flour if the dough is sticky. Shape as desired into buns, braids or lengths. Place on lined baking sheets, and allow to rise again for 30 to 45 minutes. Preheat the oven to 400.

• Step 4

• Brush the buns with beaten egg, and press raisins lightly into the dough. Bake until golden and risen, or until a toothpick inserted into the center of a bun comes out dry. Smaller buns may take 8 to 10 minutes; larger lengths and braids, 15 to 20 minutes. Cool the buns on a rack under a cloth.