Tobago’s Old-Fashioned Christmas: Cocoa, Christmas, Comfort Foods and Everything In-Between

There’s something about Christmas in Tobago that feels like the memory of home itself.

Not the shiny store-bought holiday we see in magazines, but the one that lives in the smell of wet grass after Christmas Eve drizzle, the sound of parang floating through a neighbor’s open window, and the sight of aunties moving in rhythm in the kitchen without saying a word.

Tobago’s old-fashioned Christmas is less about decoration and more about flavor, fellowship, and the quiet feeling of belonging that settles in the bones.

At the center of it all sits cocoa. Not the store-bought powdered kind, but the real cocoa: seeds grown, dried in the sun, roasted until the shells crack, and pounded by hand with a mortar and pestle.

There’s a kind of ceremony in it. One that feels slow and certain, guided by memory more than measurements.

The Cocoa Ceremony

As children, we’d sit near our grandparents watching the slow dance of roasting cocoa in the iron pot. The shells popping sounded like gentle applause, as though the cocoa itself was celebrating its own arrival.

Once ground, the cocoa paste would be rolled into tight balls or pressed into bars, wrapped in brown paper, and saved for Christmastime.

Making cocoa tea was where the magic happened.

You start with a pot of water warming on the stove, nothing rushed, nothing hurried. A few leaves of bay rum or cinnamon leaf, some grated nutmeg, maybe a piece of orange peel for brightness.

Then the cocoa is shaved in, melting slowly like dusk fading into evening. Milk joins after, not before, and sugar is added to taste. Some like it almost bitter and bold; others sweet like Sunday talk.

The result: a drink that tastes like history, patience, and home.

The Christmas Table, Tobago Style

Food during a Tobago Christmas isn’t just food. It’s memory-work. It’s honoring the hands that cooked before us and the gardens that fed us.

The table, if you were lucky, might include:

- Pastelles wrapped in green fig or banana leaves — peppery, savory, and steamed with stories.

- Ham baked and glazed, often clove-studded and slightly charred at the edges.

- Pigeon peas and rice, sometimes turned into a one-pot with coconut milk so silky it feels like a hug.

- Breadfruit roasted and sliced thick, ready to catch gravy like a sponge.

- Homemade bread warm enough to tear apart with your hands.

- Sorrel brewed deep red like velvet, spiced with ginger and clove.

- Black cake dark as midnight; dense, sweet, and adult, thanks to rum-soaked fruits that waited all year for their big moment.

There was always enough food to feed the world, and enough love to make even strangers feel like family.

Comfort Is Its Own Season

But Christmas here isn’t only about the feast on the table. It’s also the small things in between, the little rituals that don’t make it into holiday brochures but mean everything to us.

Like:

- Cracking fresh nuts with a stone in the backyard.

- Children running outside barefoot without anyone telling them to put on shoes.

- Marinating meat days before, because flavor needs time.

- Listening to old calypsos while peeling peas.

- Everybody passing through, and nobody needing an invitation.

- Comfort wasn’t something we bought — it was something we practiced.

Why This Still Matters Today

As Tobago shifts and grows, and as fast food, online orders, and imported holiday traditions slip into our daily life, the old ways can feel tender and endangered. But they aren’t gone.

They live in the people who still plant cocoa trees. In the granny who insists the cocoa stick must be shaved, not grated. In the young person who decides to learn how to make pastelles even though it’s “long work."

Old-fashioned Christmas is not about nostalgia. It’s about remembering that we come from a place where food is love, slowness is wisdom, and gathering is sacred.

This Christmas, Try Slowing Down

Maybe this is the year you:

- Make cocoa tea from scratch.

- Call an elder and ask how they used to do it.

- Cook something that takes time.

- Leave your kitchen door open for stories to wander in.

Because Tobago’s Christmas isn’t just a season. It’s a feeling we choose to return to.

Warm, rooted, and full of flavor.