A culinary history told by our grandmothers

Catalan Christmas cuisine is much more than a collection of dishes associated with this time of year. It's a shared history of essential recipes that spans centuries, territories, and families, many of which weren't learned from books or cooking schools, but at home, by observing. Watching a grandmother stir a pot without a clock or a mother know the roast is ready just by the smell.

Many of the recipes still found on Catalan tables today have been passed down through constant oral tradition, especially among women, but also across entire generations who have made the kitchen a space of shared memory. "My grandmother taught me to cook at Christmas," explains Rosa from Barcelona. "She had been a cook for some Catalan bourgeois and she cooked very well. I was her kitchen helper, assisting and observing her." This practical learning, linked to experience, is what has allowed recipes like cannelloni or escudilla to survive to this day with few variations. "I make my Christmas cannelloni exactly the same way I always have." With chicken, in her case.

In the 1960s, her great-grandmother fattened chickens from El Prat and turkeys on the terrace of their house. "Shortly before Christmas, she would slaughter them herself." Nothing was thrown away: necks, bones, and livers were used to make fillings that at home they called "embutidos" (cured meats). A humble cuisine, but deeply rooted in the land.

This idea of cooking with what you have on hand is also echoed by voices from different backgrounds. In Sant Julià de Vilatorta, Dolors Blanc, 76, a member of the Gastrosàvies project, recalls a Christmas of humble, home-cooked meals, when three generations lived together in many homes. "It was a family thing; you helped your mom, your grandma... and you started cooking without even realizing it. I started by peeling potatoes, and I was always scolded because I made the peels too thick."

"I think the cuisine of the past speaks more to the land than it does now, because it was based on what was available." According to this view, they ate rabbit, chicken, or duck. In this sense, Dolors recalls that in those days Christmas wasn't so much a display of dishes as a small exception within an austere routine. "The cooking at my house was very simple and humble. We never went hungry, but we didn't overindulge either." She doesn't remember cannelloni from her childhood; broth, on the other hand, was common, and at Christmas they made it more elaborate.

In the Ebro Delta, Esther Casanoves, from the Cava Women's Association and a member of Gastrosavias, also explains that she learned from her grandmother and mother: "I've always loved cooking, especially baking. I wanted to learn and I just watched." When her grandmother died, she took over at Christmas alongside her mother.

His Christmas revolves around two main elements: cannelloni and "olla podrida" or "Christmas pot" (a stew with stuffed galets pasta). For the cannelloni, he sticks to his family's recipe: "I use chicken, pork, and beef. The idea was to add variety to the pot." And yet, in his case, there's a resistance to easy food: "Now some people buy shredded meat for cannelloni... not me. I still roast the meat myself, and I have an old-fashioned sausage stuffer with a hand crank." The result, he says, is different—a less ground meat, more "homemade."

The land, in her case, isn't just a landscape; it's a combination of ecosystems that translates into her cooking. "Here in the Delta, we used to have lots of vegetable gardens, and we also raised animals at home… but we have the sea, the river, and the mountains." That's why Esther explains that she has her own tradition on Christmas Eve. "I make a fish stew, because it's more diuretic than meat, and it's good the day before Christmas. And if I changed it, my family wouldn't like it." Tradition, after all, is also that: the menu you're not allowed to change.

In this tradition of passing down culinary knowledge from generation to generation, Dolors jokes that her two brothers usually shirkd their duties, leaving cooking as women's work. And while this was a common scene, it wasn't in every household. In Emili's case, from Barcelona, ​​he watched from a young age as his grandmother, mother, and "aunt" cooked together at Christmas. "I was in charge of mincing the meat for the cannelloni." Those dishes, designed to feed many people, also represent a way of celebrating, with long lunches and full tables. "They were very communal meals." Over the years, he has added to his reading and new knowledge, but he maintains dishes that feed many people and have a second life. His star dish is stuffed chicken, which also leaves leftovers to use. And using up leftovers is almost a celebration within a celebration: with the juice, pine nuts, and dried apricots, they make a rice dish that they only cook once a year.

The art of using up leftovers is a common thread running through many stories of Christmas cuisine. Cannelloni, a dish now a staple on many Catalan tables, has its origins clearly linked to this practice and the Sant Esteve festival. Historically, cannelloni served to reuse meat from the roast or stew of the previous day, in a context where nothing was wasted. "My grandmother would roast the chicken in the oven, add livers and a cut of lean meat. All bought at the market," recalls Rosa. And now, "when I roast chicken, I always make extra," she explains. "Then it can be used to make cannelloni or a rice dish with chicken, sausages, and pork chops." This way of cooking, born of necessity, has become a value closely tied to sustainability and respect for the ingredients.

All these voices agree that cooking, and specifically Christmas cooking, has changed. But not because it has lost its value, but because the way we live has changed. Before, according to Rosa, cooking was simpler because the pace was also simpler: fewer ingredients but more time. Esther adds to this idea, pointing out that "women, who historically maintained Christmas cooking, now work outside the home and must divide their time among many more obligations." Cooking can no longer take up entire days, as it once did.

Things have also changed due to logistical reasons. Emilio explains that in the late 1950s, they would take the larger pieces to be baked in the bread oven because the ovens were small. And there were no refrigerators either, whereas now, refrigerators and freezers allow them to have everything at their fingertips.

This is where Dolors's reflection becomes relevant. The problem isn't eating cannelloni often, but rather that they've lost their special quality. "The broth and the cannelloni themselves are delicious and very traditional," she says, adding, "but now we eat cannelloni every other day, and we need to make Christmas more special; it's the day that truly deserves it, and we should value that."

Perhaps that's why, despite the changes, the thread hasn't been broken. The essence remains the same: cooking with foresight, respect, and awareness.