It’s that time again. Christmas rears its big, unavoidable, and contentious head. For some, Christmas marks the penultimate event of the year. Whether for faith, family, or the parties, Christmas is unavoidable. I’ve always considered it to draw people into two camps: the merry and the not-so-merry. I fall squarely in the latter.
I don’t know where it came from. The songs never resonated with me, the decorations on the tree always looked off, and the magic has eluded me from a young age. I was always partial to receiving gifts, but now at the ripe age of 23, I feel shreds of guilt if my Mum overspends. It’s hard to explain, but the celebration has never quite felt right.
It’s easy to be ungrateful; unlike many, I’ve had a nostalgia surrounding December that I’ve chosen to ignore. For better or worse, I’ve subscribed to the notion that Christmas simply wasn’t for me. Like me, many have forgone the idea that Christmas is a quintessential holiday.
It was hard to feel like I wasn’t turning into Scrooge, soon to be haunted by a series of ghosts. However, the usual Christmas dread this December was interrupted by an unexpected invite. A close friend was hosting a potluck, a term I had heard of but only pretended to know. He knew of my reserved attitude towards the festive period but insisted I come, promising a seat at a big table of friends, provided I brought something.
When I asked for more details about the party, I was met with a brief answer: “Bring whatever you want.” I was also commanded to wear a Christmas jumper. No matter how much I detested the idea, I was a guest at a party. I settled on a ‘12 Days of Grinchmas’ T-shirt from H&M—it felt perfect for both me and the occasion.
Google defines a potluck as “a situation in which one must take a chance that whatever is available will prove to be good or acceptable.” It seemed that rather than walking in on a bona fide Christmas dinner, I was to be privy to the tastes of an entire table. I love this phrasing too, taking a chance rather than waiting to be served a predictable menu.
Potlucks date back to 16th-century England, a tradition that favours the luck of the pot. Inventive name, but it really is an interesting concept. Last month, American journalist Matt Hongoltz-Hetling highlighted the potential potlucks can have. The monthly potluck he attends unites communities in Vermont amidst modern economic hardship. Not only are potlucks a fun novelty, but his article shows they can foster a sense of community.
Potluck itself is not limited to any one faith. They have a rigid quality, by proxy of being so old. Regardless of religious preference, a potluck is based on the dishes people choose to bring. I love this notion; as someone who is distasteful of the holiday cheer, I knew I was walking into a party I could enjoy.
On my walk to my friend’s flat, I frantically scrambled in the supermarket, unsure what to choose. I had tactically decided not to eat, suspecting a large feast awaited me that evening. Though I thought a homemade dish would be more sentimental, time wouldn’t allow it. I hurried through the supermarket and picked up a carrot cake ( my favourite dessert). The suspense only piqued my curiosity and hunger further. What were we going to have? Who was gonna be there? Too much excitement!
I walked up the big hill to where his flat was. Around me, the Christmas trees and lights of the flats looked brighter and more eccentric. It was like they were taunting me, and my lack of Christmas cheer.
I walked into a disappointing scene. The Christmas decorations were up, and from the ceiling dangled handmade snowflakes by a string. I felt like the Grinch’s angry expression on my t-shirt. In a desire to escape Christmas, I had naively entered a home littered with decorations.
My disappointment was personal, I know! My friends and I did look lovely in our funny assortment of woolly festive jumpers, though, and we all sat down together at the table. It was a cute scene; the student flat boasted a varied array of haphazard seats, all different sizes, and some with three legs instead of four. The table was adorned with paper plates and wooden cutlery—a type of novelty brimming with charm. It felt somehow foreign from Christmas, a good start!
We sat down at the table, where, all at once, we put out our chosen items. Yeah, people played Christmas songs, but it wasn’t a cookie-cutter festive checklist. It felt different.
Rather than a decisively boring and traditional menu, there was a varied spread of dishes at the table. Yes, people brought Christmas classics: turkey, pigs in blankets, etc. But, people also brought what they wanted. There was lamb curry, samosas, lasagne, veggie options, and dishes I hadn’t ever heard of, too. There were even Halloween candies someone had forgotten to eat. It was a melting pot, quite to my liking.
The table had a multicoloured palette. The various dishes we all brought sat with an obtuse feng shui. It made no sense, but together it looked awfully cute. My only photographs are selfies and millennial-esque Instagram photos of food, so I’ll spare you the details. You’ll just have to trust me.
The varied spread of cuisine inspired a childlike whimsy in how we all loaded our plates. The paper plates folded under the weight of the curry, the sweets, and whatever else anyone fancied
I sat beside the tree. It was a real one and looked perfect. It was big and natural and organised, and its branches tickled the back of my neck the whole dinner. It had a nostalgic smell, reminding me of the first time we ever got a real tree at home. I hated that I was enjoying myself beside the decorated tree. It felt ironic.
Despite my Christmas blues, the potluck went down a treat. I found it hard to deny that I was having a good time. There wasn’t an empty platter, and afterward we played a series of tipsy games that made the night fly by in a flash. It was almost too wholesome.
Potlucks are also an alternative to expensive Christmas dinners. The incentive for people to bring something eliminates pressure for hosts to splurge on food and drink. Business Insider featured author Katherine Li’s Christmas worries in a recent piece. As an author and musician, she was skeptical of the economic consequences of Christmas. Her idea to host a potluck this year was rooted in how expensive it is to cook for an entire table. In light of the global economic state, a potluck offered a realistic solution.
It’s not just the food. At Christmas, families in the UK on average spend close to £3000 around the festive period. Other statistics indicate a rise in spending, with the cost of living increasing rapidly. The guilt I feel around gift giving also rises every year. How do we give gifts to people we feel deserve more?
It’s a business, Christmas. On top of the food, those who celebrate need to consider presents for friends, relatives, extended relatives, and even beyond! I think potlucks can offer a solution to a tense time of the year.
The guilt we often feel at Christmas stems from this need to conform to the season. It’s like people feed off one another, creating a homogenous ball of stress the whole world feels. Maybe that’s why I love potlucks; it throws all the nonsense aside.
Beyond the monetary gain, the potluck also provides cultural value. The variety of food we had at my friend’s party inadvertently opened up my palate to new things. The lack of religious identification with the ritual is also inclusive. The regimented Christmas feast is objectively good, but undeniably samey.
Potluck has been this year’s antidote for the blues, or at least mine. Not only has it eradicated guilt, but it has also reignited my joy at this time of year. It’s strange, the aspects of gift giving and cheery spirits felt genuine at the meal. Maybe I’m less nostalgic than my friends, but there was an abundance of joy at the table.
Maybe we have the choice to choose our own Christmas. Tradition doesn’t need to define how we participate in holidays. Christmas feels almost entirely unavoidable, but I’m proof you can find a version tailor-made to your own tastes.
It was nice. Actually, more than that. It brought the Grinch out of me finally, and I’ll admit, made me a little more excited for Christmas. Maybe with an enlightened passion for the festive period, I’ll wear a different jumper next time and bring something homemade!
