Marry the man (or woman), marry the family. The saying is usually delivered with a sense of menace. In my case, it turned out to be a winning ticket in the marital lottery. My husband’s network of Danish relations sprawls over four generations, from a nonagenarian aunt to newborn first cousins twice removed, all with vivacious senses of humour and lashings of charm. And those are just the ones likely to turn up for Christmas lunch.
My welcome into real Danish life has been one of the delights of my marriage. Everyone loves Copenhagen, but few tourists get far beyond it. Most know the Danes are amongst the happiest people in the world (2nd after the Finns in the current World Happiness Index) but few are privileged to “go local” in Danish homes. The Christmas holidays are a brilliant time to do both. Between Dickens’ legacy and German Christmas markets, you might think the English and the Germans had cornered the market on Christmas tradition. Now visiting during the holidays for the third time, I may have to put the Danes at the top of my league table for Christmas cheer. Here, in some cases clearly thanks to my privileged access, are my reasons why.
CHRISTMAS DECORATING
Our first married Christmases were a time of tension as I watched my husband react with distaste to many of my American traditions: decorations up on Black Friday; tree packed so tightly with an abundance of ornament you can hardly tell there’s greenery beneath; an infrastructure of coloured, flashing lights so bright you can read unaided from across the room by the light of the tree alone; an artificial tree because, given the preceding descriptions, starting with a real pine is a bit pointless. Seeing a Christmas tree in situ in a Danish home reveals the core of the difference: Americans are about the decoration, Danes are about the tree itself.
All the ones I’ve seen here manage to look like they’re growing through the floor of the room. They are a celebration of bringing nature indoors. Baubles enhance but don’t overwhelm, and often reinforce the beauty of the natural world. With their white lights and decorations made of straw, paper and wool, Danish trees feel fundamentally organic. I also love the way that the national flag, the Dannebrog, is a regularly-used ornament, with strings of the red and white rectangles threaded through the branches to make an un-mistakably Danish tree.
The simplicity of the tree, however, doesn’t mean Danish Christmas decorations are austere … a point I missed before getting inside people’s homes. Christmas ornament can pop up anywhere, from festively adorned pots beside the front door to any table top or counter. Candles are an essential element of the Danes’ legendary hygge, and it’s all kicked up a notch at this time of year with traditional four-candle advent wreaths and fat advent candles that count down the days from one to 25, meant to burn a bit each day.
Nisse are the Danish take on elves and they’re abundant in most homes. These are not the cute, lithe American spirits but something more ancient and gnome-like. Tall, peaked hats, enormous noses and abundant beards are classic features. They’re often joined by reindeer. And whether it’s the legacy of Hans Christian Andersen or simply that they go well with the flags, Danish soldiers in smart uniforms and tall bearskins often show up.
Unsurprisingly, all of these traditions make Copenhagen a wonderful place to shop for Christmas decor. For high-end, arty decorations head to the famous Illums Bolighus. Det Gammle Apotek, a few blocks down on the same famous shopping street, Strøget, is another home decorating store that’s a bit more populist. (If you’re in a hurry, both have branches at Tivoli.) I’m a huge fan of the shop at the National Museum, just behind Christiansborg Palace, that stocks lots of Danish classics. This includes reprints of 19th- and early 20th-century patterns for paper ornaments and nisse. None of these places do much in the way of after Christmas sales, probably confident that visiting foreigners will snap up much of the stock before they leave. The exception is Magasin du Nord, Copenhagen’s most famous department store. Its Christmas shop is the one locals swear by, and the one that’s reduced to clear floor space immediately after the holiday. By the time I got there at mid-day on the 28th, most of the stock was gone.
HOMES WITH HYGGE
Winter in the south of England, despite its blessedly short and mild span, is a dim, wet slog to be endured
The famous Danish hygge is irrevocably bound with candlelight and open fires. Danes also decorate with a darkness-defying cheerfulness that embraces bright colours and a variety of pattern. Counter to perception, it’s not all mid-century modern and Ikea; I’ve observed a passion for classic antiques, often in pale wood finishes, and bold mixes of pattern and texture. Mirrors and glass make the most of light, but natural and artificial. It’s often dark here, but it’s never gloomy.
TIVOLI AT CHRISTMAS
Copenhagen’s famous Tivoli pleasure gardens are a year-round joy, but they have a special magic at Christmas. Everything is outlined in lights. The projections on the Moorish palace at the park’s heart may be the most spectacular, but I’m most fond of the enormous willows with their flowing, winter-bare arms glowing white. Extra rides like miniature trains and additional merry-go-rounds entertain the kids, illuminated by battalions of Christmas trees. All the regular rides are functioning as well. Someday I’ll hop onto the swings that ascend a tower and fly over Copenhagen, but not in cold rain.
No children are needed to be amused by the antics of the nisse on display behind the windows of Santa’s house. Christmas chalets pop up with holiday-themed shopping and cauldrons of steaming glogg, given extra spark with doses of rum and sides of klejner, deep-fried goodies that taste like the freshest, pillowiest, most subtly delicious cake donut you’ve ever imagined.
Part of Tivoli’s magic comes from retaining a two-tier pricing system that separates admission from going on the rides. (Something Disneyland used to do until 1982.) That means you can get in and wander around for a relatively reasonable £17 each, less than any of the main British illuminations are charging for entry. Many people add dinner or a show at one of the garden’s many venues. We took advantage of a pop up stint by a Michelin-starred Portuguese restaurant inside the Japanese pagoda. Story to come.
THE DANISH LUNCH
Like Tivoli, the famous Danish lunch can be enjoyed at all times of the year, but it takes on added fun … and escalated levels of profligacy … with Christmas. The most we ever managed to get around the Ferrara holiday table was 10, and I was too young to remember it. For years, Christmas was usually only me and my mother. Eighteen sitting down to a single table that stretches across the ground floor of the house was nothing but a childhood fantasy. Something other families did. In our Danish family, it’s the norm.
The main festivities are on Christmas Eve, with lighter lunches on following days. We had our lunch on Christmas afternoon, an epic feast that started about 2:30 and still saw a few sitting at table picking at chocolates seven hours later. In its multiple courses, length, diners wandering off and returning and constant grazing, the whole experience bears a striking resemblance to the time I joined distant cousins in New York for a Sicilian Easter. Except that this has a lot more alcohol. In between and throughout the fish, the meats, the cheeses, the rice pudding with cherry sauce and the chocolates laced with marzipan there’s beer and toast after toast with snapps. This is not the sweet, cocktail-making stuff but bracing, life affirming eau de vie in a bewildering variety of flavours. (Our hostesses home made version with orange, cinnamon and vanilla was fabulous. The Bornholm Distillery should use their chili version as a fire starter.)
THE PARTY BARN
The typical Danish farmhouse is a long structure on an elevated basement with a deeply-stepped roof. In shape they’re not so different from the Viking long halls they descend from, though doubtless a good deal warmer. All the ones I’ve been in have a procession of high-ceilinged, often open-plan rooms on the main floor with some bedrooms lofted in the eaves. Typically there will be a series of barns facing the house in a “c” shape, making one complex around a courtyard. On bigger farms, there may be secondary courtyards. It’s easy to see how, in days before electric light and central heating, these complexes formed a defensive bulwark against the invaders of winter snow, sleet and wind.
GLOGG
Most countries in Northern Europe have a version of mulled wine. The Danes’ is differentiated by raisins and slivered almonds stewed with the wine and served up at the bottom with a spoon to munch at the end. There’s also, inevitably, a lot more than wine to raise the alcoholic content. The specific recipe varies by family but it’s safe to say you shouldn’t be driving after even one glass of any of them.
Establishments vie for the title of best glogg maker of the season. My best this year was at Hviid’s Vinstue, a wood-panelled pub on the famous Kongens Nytorv that’s had 300 years to get their recipe right. We always warn guests about my husband’s version, but this is the first time that a single glass anywhere has made me feel positively unsteady. It was probably several teaspoons of alcohol plumped raisins consumed in place of lunch that pushed me over the edge.
Hviid’s recipe is a closely guarded secret but we’ve shared the Bencard family version here before. Follow this link, and have some lunch before you imbibe. Then have a Happy Christmas!
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