By ERIC SEO

Writing this, I sit in a European cafe/bakery eating a cardamom croissant, something rather well-known in Copenhagen. However, this croissant seems to be derived from a similarly named cardamom bun, which is certainly even more infamous than its laminated offspring. Last week, I opened with a question, and, to my regret, I plan on doing the same again today: How did cardamom get here?

The so-called “queen of spices” is Indian in origin, and its use case dates back to at least 3000 BCE thanks to a Sanskrit text which records cardamom as a spice to burn in sacrifice during marriage rituals. So then, I ask again: How did a tropical spice become a modern staple of Scandinavian cuisine? 

Ancient Greek and Roman texts also mention the use of cardamom throughout their histories. Though, here, it is used as an aristocratic perfume and aphrodisiac. It was also imported at this time to be used medicinally as a digestive aid. Before this, the Babylonians and Assyrians also cited health benefits as a primary reason to synthesize trade routes throughout the region as early as the Bronze Age. 

As history progressed towards the common era, cardamomian (this is my article, I invent words if I want) trade did, too, with the spice being a status symbol to feed the vainglory of the world’s economic elite. Venice became a major importer in the west, consuming not only this titular spice, but also pepper, cinnamon, and clove. So too did trade expand further into Asia, but our interest here lies in Europe; stay focused. Notably, Portugal, the colonial power that it was, became intimately involved with the cardamom trade in the 16th century when she found herself in control of the western coast of India. 

However, we are getting ahead of ourselves; cardamom first appeared in a Scandinavian recipe around 1450, where its use case was nearly identical to the recipes of the Moors. This is the reason why culinary archeologist Daniel Serra, who focuses on Viking and medieval cuisine, opposes the common understanding that Vikings found the cardamom in Constantinople a thousand years ago and brought it back to their homeland. Moorish recipes and traditions, therefore, have had a heavy influence on Scandinavian cookery. Although, the idea of Vikings discovering a delicate spice and bringing home the piquant seeds is much more enticing to the mind, so believe what you choose.

As the world industrialized and spices became commonplace in the kitchens of, as Winston Smith may say, the proles, the use of cardamom actually fell out of favor in Europe. It no longer held the prestige of the elite because of its ubiquity, and, thus, was no longer interesting. However, it persisted in Scandinavia in the same way that cinnamon and nutmeg persist in North American cuisine. Serra speculates that geographic location explains this persistence; because she is “on the fringes of the continent”, Scandinavia clung to medieval food longer than the rest of Europe. On the other hand, I personally believe that the historic influence of cardamom on cuisine permeated into the culture of its people, leaving Scandinavia too enamored with the delicious spice to let it go. Though I will add, I am not the historian that Serra is, so what do I know? 
Anyways, cardamom is here and it is here to stay. The Swedish kanebuller (Cardamom Buns) are those that I have enjoyed on the streets of Copenhagen, symbolizing the melding of Scandi cultures and cuisines. The croissant–now long gone–that I write about in the opening of this piece is descendent from this, too. Cardamom is used to flavor doughs, poaching liquids, and drinks alike. Its use here is incredibly reminiscent of the way cinnamon is used in the United States, a holiday spice used in baked goods and to scent the air with cozy vibes. Those vibes, though, will likely be called Hygge here.

Featured Image: The croissant Eric ate