Novelty, Tradition, and Trying Something New

In January, after the holidays and before school restarted, I got an idea. As many of my ideas do, it began with food.

In our house, we go through at least five pounds of mandarin oranges a week. My youngest son goes through three a day, minimum. Which means each morning I find myself with my thumbnails digging into citrus peels, again and again, the half-moons at the top always tinged tangerine.

In that wavy time between Christmas and routine, I found myself thinking about traditions and how they develop.

We’ve never celebrated our family’s Christmas on Christmas Day. When the kids were little, I used to pretend to call Santa and explain that we’d be out of town. After some discussion, we’d agree that it would be easier for him to drop off stocking gifts the weekend before. I told the boys that Santa was glad to get some of the work done before the 25th.

I’m also not much of a cookie person. Rice Krispies? Absolutely. They’re simple and so much more than the sum of their parts. Sugar cookies, though, just don’t feel worth getting out the mixer and rolling the dough. But this year, as I absent-mindedly peeled yet another mandarin, I wondered about candied orange peels.

If you’ve ever watched a BBC period drama or a fancy cooking show, you’ve probably seen them: orange peels boiled in sugar water, rolled in sugar or spices, glossy and curled into little spirals. They’re beautiful. Old-timey. Tangible, fragrant nostalgia.

So I wondered: as I prepared breakfast each morning, was I throwing away some good stuff?

I started saving the peels in a Tupperware container to collect enough for a decent batch. My husband noticed but didn’t say anything. Nineteen years have gotten him used to small, random occurrences.

I found a recipe online and was excited to try it. The spiral, in my mind, was optional. The granulated sugar on top of the unseasonal orange looked magical enough. This was part one of what might become the most magical Christmas tradition ever.

My husband was dubious.

I boiled the peels in water, then in sugar water, then laid them out to dry and rolled them with even more sugar. They looked close enough to the internet photos. I picked up a sizeable piece and took a bite.

It tasted like sugar on a boiled orange peel. Understandable.

Thinking maybe it was an acquired taste, I tried again. It was edible. Not terrible. But the recipe had devoted at least three paragraphs to the wonders of this treat, and I wasn’t feeling amazed.

My oldest son and my husband tried it too. No one spit it out, but no one asked for seconds. I’m open to trying professionally made candied orange peel someday, as chef’s error may have been a factor. However, for now, I’m comfortable saying that we are, in fact, eating the correct part of the orange.

The experiment failed. And yet, from a brain science perspective, it still mattered.

Engaging in novelty is one of the best ways to bring ourselves into the present moment. Novel experiences activate attention, boost mood, and create stronger, more emotionally rich memories. Creativity and doing things differently stretch the brain’s capacity, strengthening existing neural connections and building new ones.

So even though I don’t plan to eat orange peels on the regular, trying something new wasn’t a waste of time.

Winter months can be hard even without ice storms. Seasonal affective disorder is real. Financial stress lingers after the holidays. In this season especially, novelty isn’t frivolous. Taking the time for fun and curiosity is part of a good success strategy.

Even if the experiment doesn’t turn out sweet.