Lentils, grapes and red underwear: New Year's Eve food luck
At midnight on 31 December, in squares, bars and homes across Spain, people gulp down grapes as fast as the bells chime. Twelve grapes, twelve chimes, twelve months of luck. It's a ritual so embedded it's hard to imagine New Year's Eve without it. But the origin of this custom is wrapped in fog. One popular legend, often repeated without solid documentation, says Levantine wine-growers invented the tradition in 1909 to shift a surplus harvest. Another story, just as poorly documented, claims it was a tongue-in-cheek imitation of the Madrid bourgeois habit of drinking champagne and eating grapes on Christmas Eve. What is clear is that by the early twentieth century the practice was already known in Madrid, and since then it has become a national hallmark.
From north to south: symbols on the New Year's plate
Spain is not alone. In Italy, lentils—lenticchie—are the star of the Capodanno table. The story goes that their coin-like shape brings prosperity. Nobody can pinpoint when the custom began; lentils have been grown on the Italian peninsula for millennia, and the belief that they attract wealth is so old it's impossible to trace its start. What matters is the gesture: a dish of lentils cooked with pork sausage, cotechino or zampone, served just after midnight.
In Germany and Austria, pork also has its place on the New Year's table. Folk belief says the pig brings luck because it roots forward, unlike poultry which scratches backward. It's a charming explanation, but hard to verify across its entire geographic range; customs vary widely between regions. In Berlin, Munich or Vienna, you'll find Schweinshaxe, roast pork knuckle, or sausages served with sauerkraut and mashed potato. Marzipan is also moulded into little lucky pigs, Glücksschwein, sold in bakeries throughout the week before New Year.
Further north, in Denmark, Sweden and the Netherlands, pickled herring appears at the New Year's dinner or lunch. Herring, according to popular belief, symbolises abundance because it swims in vast shoals and its silver colour evokes silver coins. It's a pleasing rationalisation, but that's what it is: a folk belief, not a documented historical fact. The herring is served on rye bread, with raw onion, capers and sometimes pickled beetroot. In Amsterdam or Copenhagen, street stalls sell it all year, but on New Year's Eve it takes on a different meaning.
Red underwear and the invisible dimension of the menu
Not everything is food. In Italy and Spain, many people put on red underwear at midnight. It's supposed to bring luck in love. Supermarkets start stacking packets of red pants and knickers by mid-December; it's a seasonal business as predictable as nougat. What's interesting for anyone running a small food business is this: people don't buy lentils or grapes or herring because they're hungry. They buy them because they want to do something at a particular moment of the year. The value isn't only in the ingredient, but in the ritual.
That explains why a plate of lentils that would cost £4 or €5 in February can sell for double as a "New Year's lucky menu" on 31 December. Or why a tray of twelve peeled grapes in plastic, which nobody would buy in July, disappears from the shelves in the last week of the year. People pay for the story as much as the food.
What a small food business can take from this
First: a dish with a story sells better than a dish without one. You don't need to invent a legend, but you can tell the one that already exists. If you're serving lentils with sausage on 31 December, write on the board "Lucky lentils – Italian New Year tradition". If you sell pickled herring, say where it comes from and why people eat it that night. The story costs nothing and can justify a higher price or attract customers looking to "do things properly" on a special date.
Second: use the calendar. Demand for certain ingredients spikes at specific moments. Lentils, seedless grapes, pork, herring: all climb in the last week of December. If you run a market stall, a food truck or a village café, you can plan ahead and buy those ingredients when they're still cheap, earlier in the month. A simple example: if you buy 10 kg of lentils at £8 in November instead of £12 the week of New Year's Eve, you save £4 per 10 kg. Small numbers, but they add up.
Third: simplicity is no barrier. Lentils are cheap. Grapes are cheap. Pickled herring lasts for weeks. None of these dishes requires complicated technique or exotic ingredients. What makes them special is the moment and the meaning. A small business can compete here without expensive equipment or fine-dining training. You only need to know how to tell the story and serve the dish on the right day.
If you want to work out exactly what each portion costs you—lentils, sausage, oil, garlic, whatever—and what you should charge to cover costs and make a decent margin, a tool like Pricora's price analyzer will show you in two minutes. But the most important lesson is in the squares of Madrid at midnight: people pay for the ritual as much as the food.
Frequently asked questions
When did the tradition of twelve grapes start in Spain?
Nobody knows for certain. The custom was already known in Madrid by the early twentieth century, but the stories about its origin—surplus harvest, bourgeois imitation—are popular legends without solid documentation.
Why are lentils eaten in Italy at New Year?
Folk belief says their shape resembles coins and therefore brings prosperity. It's a very old tradition, impossible to date precisely, but lentils have been grown in Italy for thousands of years.