MORE than any other Christian festival, Christmas is a celebration of scents. From steaming puddings to the fragrant oils of Christingle oranges and the frankincense and myrrh brought to Jesus in the manger, so many of the touchstones of the season are olfactory ones.
In Latin America, Christmas means buñuelos frying—sweet fritters laced with aniseed and then drenched in syrup. In Australia, it’s the waft of caramelising sugar from a pavlova crisping in the oven or wood smoke from the barbecue on which the turkey will be cooked. Here in Britain, we associate December with a quartet of sweet, warm spices: cinnamon, cloves, allspice and ginger.
They feel so hey-nonny-nonny that it’s hard to imagine a time before spices were the cornerstone of Christmas
They feel so foundational, so hey-nonnynonny, that it’s hard to imagine a time before these spices were a cornerstone of Christmas. But of course, what Elizabeth David called ‘the English fondness for spiced fruit mixtures’ had a beginning. One account has it all starting with the
