Unlike the cherry, the turkey or the scorched almond, the humble raisin is seldom celebrated at Christmastime. But take it away and you’ll swiftly discover that, without the raisin, there is no Christmas.

For this week’s special Christmas-is-the-day-after-tomorrow ingredient of the week, I wanted to choose the most Christmassy ingredient I could think of, and this is what I came up with: the raisin.

Sure, raisins on their own don’t scream “Christmas” – perhaps to you they scream mini red boxes in childrens’ lunchboxes, or hiking with a pocket full of scroggin, or the thing that ruins an otherwise good cookie that you hoped was chocolate chip. And, yes, sure, I could’ve chosen cherries, nutmeg, brandy, or nuts instead. But I chose raisins, dammit, and here’s why.

Almost no one likes raisins. But despite their lack of popularity, they’re the fundamental ingredient of all the most classic Christmas desserts – fruit cake, Christmas mince pies, Italian panettone, German stollen, Christmas pud. Even if we don’t enjoy these desserts, we make them, buy them, and eat them anyway. Why? Because they are the spirit of Christmas in edible form, and they all need raisins to exist.

So the most Chrismassy ingredient has got to be the wrinkled raisin. Just try to make a Christmas mince pie without raisins, I dare you – that will be a spiced marmalade tart, which is just not the same.

This week, I’m skipping the usual ingredient-of-the-week” categories – we all know where to find raisins, we’re winding down for Christmas, getting loose with the work rules – plus, as one of my friends said when I mentioned the raisin topic of this article, “I’d be surprised if you can find a form that makes raisin haters like raisins.” Raisins are mild enjoyment or hate, and there’s not a whole lot I can do (or care to do) about that.

So instead, a brief education, and some lively raisin debate.

What is a raisin?

Yes, we all know what a raisin is – the parched, shrivelled, elderly evolution of a grape. But do we all know what a sultana and a currant are? The truth about the sultana, fair and golden, is not too shocking – it’s a raisin of the green grape variety. But a currant?

My sister, a veggie gardener and foodie, said “Surely a currant is a dried currant”. I thought that sadly, she must be right: the currant would be in the camp of the “date is a dried date” disappointment, not the “prune is a dried plum” bombshell.

But no! The currant is in fact not a dried currant. It is simply another kind of raisin, made from the small Black Corinth grape. Is that a cool bombshell? I’d say I was 4/10 excited, which isn’t nothing at 11pm while reading a Wikipedia article about raisins. In short, if you’ve been reading this thinking “I could make Christmas mince pies without raisins – I’d use currants and sultanas”, then think again.

Are raisins and their Christmas associates good or bad?

I polled 10 of my friends and family members about their feelings on raisins, Christmas cake, and Christmas mince pies. The (10) people have spoken, and their voices are a muddle. The common thread is that almost no one likes raisins, whereas Christmas mince pies and Christmas cake are often the exception and still frequently enjoyed.

Some people were pretty positive about Christmas cake and mince pies…

“Huge fan”

“Generally positive!! I eat everything though.”

“Big fan of Xmas pies, hate Xmas cake”

“I very much enjoyed those mince pies and would eat about three thousand more.” (This in reference to the Christmas mince pies I made, pictured above, so props to me).

“Okay well I genuinely love Christmas cake – without the icing. And without nuts. And with a small quantity of glacé cherries. And Christmas mince tarts are touch and go. The good ones are to die for. The bad ones I wouldn’t touch with a barge pole.”

…But slagged off raisins:

“I honestly don’t rate raisins. Except in Christmas things.”

“By themselves? Wouldn’t really eat them but no strong opposition. I’m more of a sultana gal if I had to pick”

“The only time i like raisins

Is when they’re grapes”

Others hated both:

“The inside [of mince pies] often has raisins in it, which is not my favourite. Plus I always think it will be a mince and cheese pie, so that’s disappointing.” (This from a man who has been a vegan for about a decade).

And some were straight out negative about Christmas cake and pies:

“Don’t like them. Personally.”

After mentioning their association with raisins: “Ah well I hate raisins so there you go.”

Even my grandma, who made Christmas mince pies every year while I was growing up, recently confided to me that she never liked them.

Another friend was a total outlier, enjoying raisins (weird) but calling Christmas mince pies a waste of space.

“Mm see I’m a raisin fan. But Christmas pies are just such an afterthought of a recipe. I could be totally off, but I just imagine some old impoverished grandma somewhere in Europe back in the 1600’s only having flour and raisins and an assortment of spices to make something with, and so came up with the most uninspiring desert ever which was born from necessity not taste.”

On that note, I was forced to look up the origin of Christmas mince pies, and found that my friend who consistently confused the Christmas mince pie with the mince and cheese pie was not totally off the mark.

The Christmas mince pie dates back to the European crusaders of the 13th century, who returned home from the Middle East with spices, fruit and meat. Yes, meat. Originally, Christmas mince pies were also called “mutton pie”, and contained the mince of an animal, as well as the mince of fruit. Traditional mince pies still contain suet, aka the raw, hard fat of beef, lamb or mutton found around the loins and kidneys. So… maybe check the ingredients list.

In conclusion

And me? Actually, I very much enjoy a good Christmas mince pie. Best of all is having a bowl of brandy-soaked fruit, peel and raisins in the fridge to stir and nibble on for a week before making the pies themselves – it’s like a Christmas infusion straight to your bloodstream.

Even a small square of dense Christmas cake (no icing, slivered almond topping optional, glacé cherries and candied peel welcome) is pretty good. Once a year. There’s a reason Christmas cake can last for a year in the cupboard, and that’s because it takes a year for anyone to want to eat one.

But as I said at the beginning of all this, I really don’t think we should judge Christmas cake or pies as we would usually judge food. They’re about capturing a common, nostalgic feeling in a mouthful. Even if your nostalgic feeling of Christmas cake is thinking it’s quite gross, that’s a feeling that you’ve had in the festive season for most of your life – and that’s something special, and which is only possible because of the raisin.

Wyoming Paul is the co-founder of Grossr, a meal kit alternative.