Cannella

The story goes that canella —a diminutive of canna (reed) in Latin— was among the most prized gifts to bestow upon kings and gods.

Its reputation grew so greatly that many merchants, seeking to control its price and availability, invented stories about the perilous efforts required to obtain it, claiming it could only be found in remote and treacherous lands, guarded by fearsome beasts.

Beyond the mysticism surrounding these early architects of trade, the ordinary person was not merely confronting an ingredient that enriched the flavour of their meals; they were dealing with an element renowned for its healing, protective, and abundance properties.

In time, traditional Indian medicine (Ayurveda) and Chinese medicine (TCM) came to recognize this cannella as a substance of both preventive and therapeutic purposes, as it increased heat in the body. This inner warmth, in turn, stimulated blood circulation and digestion, yielding soothing, anti-inflammatory effects in those who partook of it.

One of my favorite ways to enjoy it is in an infusion of ginger, brightened with a splash of lemon and finished with a pinch of powdered cinnamon.

Furthermore, across generations, many cultures have turned to these slender reeds as a means of protection for their homes, placing them at doors and windows—at times arranged in bowls alongside elements such as myrrh, at others tucked into small pouches and hung above the lintel. 

This material has likewise held a central place in countless rituals devoted to attracting abundance. Among the most common practices include carrying a small piece in one's wallet, burning the reed itself, or sprinkling a pinch upon a lit candle… I personally like to blow a trace of cinnamon across the thereshold of my home on the first day of each month.

In short, this element—once believed to repel the negative and draw in the positive—has survived to this day… though not without small transformation. Today, cinnamon has been largely confined to a decorative role —wooven into Christmas wreaths or bound into fragrant bundles so that we unwittingly carry forward the heritage of our ancestors without fully understanding the reasons behind it. 

And so I find myself wondering: is it not worth listening to that which has endured across centuries, leaving quiet traces of its real value? And even in our skepticism, might we not allow ourselves to be guided by curiosity, to experience, firsthand, some of these ancient customs?