Tomorrow is Wigilia (Christmas Eve) and it’s one day that most Polish families take very seriously. I said “most” because some celebrate it in a less traditional way – like at an all-inclusive resort in Madeira or Tenerife, for example.

But for most Poles, Wigilia means getting together with their extended family, eating huge amounts of food and exchanging Christmas presents.

Wigilia is not only the day before Christmas, it’s also the traditional Christmas Eve supper (dinner) that’s supposed to consist of different 12 courses/dishes. Now, I don’t have much experience with that, because as I mentioned on this blog already, my family was not the traditional type when it came to cooking. So while I’m familiar with barszcz, I’ve never seen “uszka” in it. Żurek I know only from other people’s stories. And I have no clue what “kutia” is. We did have karp (carp, ugh, hate that fish) and śledzie, either as “rolmopsy” or “w śmietanie” (herring, either as rolmops or with sourcream – now, that I can eat!), zupa grzybowa (mushroom soup), barszcz czerwony (red borscht), some sort of salad (the one with veggies and eggs all chopped up into small bits and slathered in mayo), some pickles and whatever cake my mom managed not to turn into “zakalec.” Sometimes we’d have savory galaretka, which I quite liked.

Traditionally, Wigilia is supposed to be a meatless affair, but in a house full of picky eaters, fried chicken was a necessity.

There would always be an extra setting on the table – traditionally, for an unexpected guest or a lost traveler, because nobody should be spending Wigilia alone. I’d normally pile my chicken bones, or anything I didn’t want to eat, on that extra plate.

We never started the celebration with a prayer, but with me hogging the Christmas wafer (opłatek) and refusing to share with anyone. What can I say, I liked the stuff. It was crunchy and had no flavor. When we did manage to do the traditional thing and share opłatek with each other, it inevitably ended up with me collecting all the pieces and dunking them in my glass of cherry juice to make them turn red. We never sang any Christmas carols (kolędy) either, simply because nobody could remember any words past the first two lines.

Afterwards, it was time to open our presents. One time when my sister was little, our aunt dressed up as Santa Claus. And she was a very fierce Santa, too. My sister had nightmares for days to come.
And then, as a punishment for my atrocious behavior during dinner, I’d be delegated to help with doing the dishes.

We never went to the midnight mass (pasterka), choosing instead to sit in front of the TV and watch “A Christmas Carol” for the umpteenth time.

And Christmas day itself was boredom incarnate. More food, more TV, more dishes to wash. I didn’t quite mind, I could go to my room, stick headphones on my head, crawl under the blankets and not come out until the 27th.

Oh, how I miss the good old days!

PS. Regarding the hay from the last post – I asked ten Polish women (real Polish women with names like Katarzyna and Agnieszka living in places like Łomża and Słupsk) about the proper placement of hay for Wigilia and the answers I got were:
1. It can go on the table.
2. It can go under the tablecloth.
3. It can go under the table.
4. It can go into four corners of the room.
5. Save yourself some trouble and just give it directly to your dog/cat/small child, because you’ll be stuck cleaning it up afterwards anyway.

So, in other words – it doesn’t really matter where the hay goes, as long as it’s there.

Enjoy your holidays and I’ll see you again on the 27th!

Images: Wikipedia