If you’ve ever spent Christmas in the UK as an American, there’s a specific moment — generally, for me at least, somewhere between someone ripping an explosive paper crown over your head and hearing a grown adult bellow “IT’S BEHIND YOU! a thesp — when you fully realize that the British incarnation of this holiday is in its own universe. Lovely, messy, a bit strange — and totally honest about it.
The first shock always happens at dinner. They are a good time for turkey and dressing, maybe a ham. Brits? They produce crackers — not the edible type. These are the party tubes that you pull on with another person, yank apart and hope they “pop” in a tiny explosion. Out pops some flimsy toy, a bad joke and a bright paper crown everyone must wear throughout the entire meal as if they’re members of some kind of paper monarchy. And the Brits are totally cool with this.
Then there are mince pies. Hearing the name, Americans are sent into a tailspin — is this dessert made with beef? Pork? Some medieval meat mixture? No, it’s sweet, rich and filled with spiced fruit. But the Brits wouldn’t rebrand it, ensuring that confusion continued for generations to come.
The dinner itself is a marathon at Christmas. There is turkey, yes — but there are also pigs in blankets (which seem basically to be sausage wrapped in bacon and quite possibly identified as a vegetable), Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes that could close wars and enough gravy to lay ruin the village of Hamelin. And just when Americans for chris sakes think it’s safe, along someone comes with Christmas pudding, which is a glopping fruitcake set on fire. Literally. They pour alcohol on it and torch it like some magic show finale.
The eccentricities extend well beyond dinner. British turn on their television at 3 p.m. precisely for the King’s Christmas speech, a tradition that sounds so formal and ceremonial even in description it seems to take you back into a history documentary. Americans typically sit there attempting to figure out if they’re supposed to salute or merely nod respectfully.
And then there are the treasured pantomimes’ pandemonium, or “pantos.” These are not just any showings of musicals, where men dress in drag and the audience delivers call-and-response screams. Snow White might fight pirates. Cinderella could burst into ”“pop songs from 2013. Americans would walk out thinking: What did I just watch — and why the hell was it so kind of good?
There are lesser-known British traditions that muddy the water further for Americans. It’s like putting coins in the Christmas pudding. Or mailing a Christmas card to every single one of your colleagues, the neighbors, your dentist and anyone else you’ve ever made eye contact with. Or putting on the ugliest Christmas sweater you own — not ironically, but in a contest.
Even the décor is not without its peculiarities. Brits go mistletoe-crazy, everyone avoiding kisses like a military operation at the office do. Everywhere they hang lights, but the massive, over-the-top spectacles Americans crave? Nope. A modest twinkle is enough. No inflatable Santa army needed.
Boxing Day is another mystery. Americans figure it has something to do with sports, fighting, or perhaps cash back. In fact, it’s a lazy day when shops open early (though the good sales won’t start until Jan. 7), people eat leftovers, watch football and pretend to know what on earth Boxing Day is all about. Most Brits don’t exactly know themselves.
And then, there is booking Christmas lunch at the pub — maybe months in advance — as though it’s a wedding venue. Brits take this seriously. Arriving idiots might anticipate pub snacks, but instead there’s a five-course plated dinner and a wait staff that appears to have been running since 6 o’clock this morning.
Gift-giving traditions are equally unique. Brits love stocking fillers — you know, useless little presents that could be anything from chocolate to a fairly random gadget nobody actually needs. And when the packages are opened, all react with that famous British politeness one could win awards for — “Oh lovely, thank you!” — even if all you get in the present is a pair of socks or a mug that says “World’s Okayest Aunt.”
But if there’s one thing that holds the whole holiday tight, it’s Britain’s inclination towards generating warmth from weirdness. It all adds up to something deep-down charming: for each tradition — the crowns, the crackers, the flaming desserts, those pantos, that monarchy broadcast, odd snacks you hate and the jokes you don’t find funny — it never fails to persuade.
Americans who come to the UK at Christmas walk into a world that seems familiar but topsy-turvy. And yet, before it’s over, most of them fall in love with the whole absurdist enterprise. Because British Christmas might seem weird from the outside, but it’s so joyful and humorous and cozy in its communal chaos that you can’t help but love every bizarre bit of it.
And you’ll know that you have truly integrated once you are yanking a Christmas cracker, sporting a paper crown and yelling “HE’S BEHIND YOU! without questioning it.
