They say Christmas is celebrated differently in every community. I believe it is celebrated differently in every family. Born into a Syrian Christian family from Calicut, most of my memories of Christmas are rooted in childhood: the way my parents and extended family marked the day, the rituals we followed, and, like every good festival in India, the food that held everything together.
Christmas preparations in our home began as early as October, when my mother soaked dry fruits and nuts in a mix of brandy and rum for the Christmas cake she baked every year. Every household has its own recipe, and ours was no different; my mother handpicked every fruit, nut, and even the orange peel with great care. She believed that good prep work was the foundation of good food.
The fruit-soaking was always a family affair. Close relatives would gather at home, helping with the chopping and mixing while laughter and gossip filled the air. Another essential ritual was making sure we had the right cut of meat. The duck (not just any duck) had to be perfect for our duck mappas curry. My mother’s Christmas spread always included special sweet and savoury snacks: halwa, rose cookies, Diamond cuts, and kozhalappams.
For Syrian Christians, Christmas is preceded by 25 days of Lent Noyambu—a period of abstinence and restraint. From the first of December till Christmas Eve, traditional families avoid meat and follow a pared-down, frugal lifestyle. I’ve always felt that this period of simplicity is what makes the abundance of Christmas Day feel so meaningful. You appreciate the feast far more when you’ve lived simply in the days leading up to it.
Christmas in our home didn’t start with lunch; it began with an elaborate breakfast. Not too elaborate, of course; there had to be enough space for the grand lunch that followed. But it was always special and always celebratory.
One thing that set our family apart was my grandmother’s influence. While most families in our community followed traditional Syrian Christian menus, my grandmother loved including Western dishes on the Christmas table. Our staples never changed: appam and stew, duck mappas, fish moilee, pork vindaloo, but she always added something new.
Growing up on a plantation with British influences, she had access to recipes and flavours that were unusual in Kerala households at the time. So my childhood Christmas lunches sometimes included shepherd’s pie, roasted chicken, and other Continental dishes. She also introduced us to desserts we had only heard of in Enid Blyton books: peach melba, trifle pudding, and magical creations that delighted us as children.
Of all the dishes I’ve tasted over the years, the one that stays with me most vividly is my mother’s baked crab. I can still picture it: the crab shells filled with a cheesy, savoury mixture, baked until golden. It had the perfect balance of flavour, cheesy, umami, and comforting. Even today, I can recall its taste with startling clarity. I have tried to recreate it, but some dishes belong to their time, shaped by the ingredients, the environment, and the moment. They are hard to reproduce.
Another dish that defined Christmas for us was the mutton biryani my mother made. Christmas in India is incomplete without biryani, but Kerala biryani is different, light, flavourful, and delicate. It isn’t heavy with masala; it settles gently on your tongue and lingers in your memory because of its subtlety. It is a dish I still make regularly, staying true to my mother’s style.
After the extravagant Christmas lunch, the entire family would be comatose with fullness. But no one ever refused a cup of chaaya during teatime and, magically, everyone always found space for the snacks my mother had prepared. I’m still amused by how much people manage to eat during festivals.
Christmas, inevitably, has changed over the years. There was a time when ingredients were hard to come by, and scarcity made the dishes feel more precious. I think back to my grandmother preparing peach melba or trifle pudding dishes, not common in those days and realise now how much effort went into sourcing everything.
Today, putting together a Christmas feast is easier than ever. One can buy, outsource, or order everything from restaurants. But to me, the true beauty of Christmas lies in the effort: the chopping, the mixing, the soaking, the planning. Food is a love language, and festivals are when it speaks the loudest.
While I still celebrate Christmas with my family, the festival has taken on a new dimension for me. I now extend that warmth and celebration to the people who come to my restaurant. Christmas is, after all, about community building and what better way to build community than through food? Feeding people, welcoming them to my table, and perhaps making a few new friends along the way feels like the truest continuation of the traditions I grew up with.
