At 3pm, after just six-and-a-half hours of daylight, the sun sets in Stockholm. Sweden’s winter blues has been a subject of much writing, analysis and research, but the mid-afternoon gloom doesn’t seem half as intimidating. The reason for that is the snowfall I see within minutes of exiting the Arlanda Express train station. And the first thoughts are of sugar dust on a pumpkin pie.
The thought takes roots as I walk to the hotel through streets festooned with fairy lights and wreaths. Christmas comes to Stockholm almost a month before it really is. One of the first indicators are the daily performances: A poetry recital, carol singing or a skit in Gamla Stan or Stockholm’s Old Town. The next big — the biggest actually — thing is the Christmas markets that mushroom across the city. And restaurants lay out the buffet tables from end-November.
Dressed in layers, I meet tour guide Elisabeth Daude the next morning. Rosendal’s Garden is a train and a tram ride away from the hotel. Nothing is in bloom here but a beautiful blanket greets us as we enter the organic market-cum-restaurant. The aroma of saffron-and-wheat buns, fresh from the oven, hangs in the air. Outside, pomologist Joseph Rowe is handing out cups of what looks like traditional Swedish glögg, also known as mulled wine in other parts of Europe. But this is
Two tram stops away, we alight at Skansen, the open-air museum that is also the venue for the St Lucia festivities in the evening. Until then, we have the Christmas market to focus on.
Instead of trying to describe what this market really is, I’ll list only some of the things I see here: cheeses, salmon and shrimp wraps, cinnamon-coated licorice sweets, varieties of chocolates — including the popular hot beverage, caramelised almonds, smoked sausages, Swedish gingersnap cookies, handmade candles, woollens and even lottery tickets. We stop at a shop laden with tomté, the mischievous gnome, in various shapes and sizes, and material — felt, wool, latex and papier mâché. Daude explains that the mythical creature, birthed by Scandinavian folklore, is believed to protect people and homes despite being naughty.
I’ll skip the details of the singing and dancing that always accompany Christmas shopping at these markets. And an elaborate buffet — julbord (Christmas table) — awaits us at Villa Godthem. My companion for dinner is Lotta Andersson, who plies me with stories of Christmas buffets in Sweden.
This elaborate meal, like most things Xmassy, is rooted in family traditions. Andersson says that her family likes to kick-start with warm saffron breads and a rice porridge spiced with cinnamon. The cook puts just one almond in the porridge. And whoever finds it in his or her bowl is made to recite a poem. Akvavit, a spirit flavoured with elderflower, has an important place in the meal. You take a shot of the alcohol with the first helping of herring items. The classic serving of ham is usually around 3pm, when most families huddle around the television for their favourite Christmas shows.
The 118 dishes at the Villa Godthem julbord take two months of hard work to prepare. Which means the work starts in September. The first course, if you can call it so, has 17 varieties of herring dishes — flavoured with mango and passion fruit, mustard and capers, and a modern version with sour cream and onion. There are also canapés with cheese, salmon and caviar. Up next are cuts of smoked salmon, followed by cold meats such as Christmas ham and elk, and meatballs. The food is paired with beer, in a cocktail with a seasonal beverage called Julmust. The Christmas ham is slow-cooked for about three days, and crusted with hard bread and mustard. A soft-bread version is available for the elderly. The elk and pork sausages find worthy company in the yoghurt-herb-mustard dressing.
For desserts, it’s risalamande, which reminds me of kheer if not for the cinnamon. And then it’s time for knäck, a hard-boiled candy made of maple syrup and spices, and ostkaka , a Swedish cheesecake. The latter attracted more praises than the much-heavier and familiar Philadelphia cheesecake.
P horum Dalal is a Mumbai-based writer