Cinnamon Isn’t Cinnamon Until It’s Canela
Cinnamon. As much as I pride myself on my attention to grammar, spelling and syntax, the word cinnamon frequently slips away from me. I’ll always spell it cinammon for some reason. It drives me nuts, but no matter how many times I write the word, I always have to run a spellcheck on it. Heh. I just misspelled “spellcheck” by spelling it “spellchick.” Hmm.
I think my major malfunction is not that I’m an idiot when it comes to spelling. No, I seriously think it’s because cinnamon isn’t cinnamon. It’s canela. As much as I adore English, its equivalent of canela is just lacking and weak.
When I say “cinnamon tea,” what do you think? I’m sure your face bunches up in a sour expression as you imagine dripping ground cinnamon into hot water. When I say “te de canela” or just plain old “canela,” I get visions of cinnamon sticks boiling in water, filling up the house with a lovely, sweet aroma. I get visions of a cup of canela on those cold Mexican nights when all we had for dinner was a galleta – a cookie, to be sure, but a thousand times better than whatever Nabisco could conjure up for kids’ lunchboxes. Canela heralded the (mildly) cold Mexican winters (I know, seems like an oxymoron, doesn’t it?). The first half of the schoolyear was almost over, Christmas was coming, and my grandfather’s birthday celebration would be held soon (January 6, to be precise). During that party, pots upon pots of canela would be boiled beginning at around 5am when the mariachi first came to sing “Las Mananitas” to my grandfather. The party would progress from there, lasting all day. The canela would keep flowing, and I’m sure the adults would spike their own with some tequilita. Canela kept you warm when you weren’t allowed to drink coffee; canela kept things spicy. It wasn’t to be used for the purposes of baking or shaking onto your Starbucks latte – it was for drinking, damnit. A strong cup of canela woke you up and sent you on your way.
I sit here, drinking a Bigelow tea called “cinnamon spice,” but it’s bastardized by the “rose hips, hibiscus flowers, apples, orange peel, lemon grass, spice, peppermint leaves, chamomile, carob, licorice root, barley malt” that’s within. Bah, I say. There are three things you need to make canela: A pot, water, and the cinnamon sticks. When the water and sticks reach a rolling boil, dump some very cold water into the pot and let it work back to a vigorous boil. Pour yourself some canela, then flavor with sugar and milk if you so desire. Mmmmm, canela. You don’t need these fruity spices to make cinnamon tea good. It works well on its own.
As I can’t bring in that pot or the sticks (and lack a burner) to work, I have to settle for this poor imitation. However, if you get a chance, have some real canela The more sticks in the pot, the stronger it’ll be. I fill my pot almost halfway with sticks in order to produce a strong tea. Try it. It’s much better than pouring ground cinnamon into hot water.
