The days leading up to Christmas in Oaxaca, Mexico—where colonial-era churches and colorful markets are cradled between the Sierra Madre mountains—don’t look quite as you’d expect. While some locals wrap last-minute gifts, others are hard at work harvesting, cleaning, and carving enormous ruby-skinned radishes for an unusual yearly competition.
Two days before Christmas, the town hosts the Night of the Radishes, when local artisans present intricate designs sculpted from the vegetable—Nativities, party scenes, ancient Egyptian gods and mythological creatures, artworks such as The Last Supper—and display them in dozens of booths in Oaxaca’s central square, the Zócalo.
Competition is fierce. Radishes wilt quickly once cut, so the sculptures are arranged at dawn on December 23. By early afternoon, a group of judges—a mix of politicians, artists, and past winners—cast their votes. The results are announced at six P.M., and by midnight the booths have been dismantled. Winners can earn up to $7,000. The also-rans share a beer, then take their creations home for a few more hours until they need to be thrown away.
Oaxacans have farmed the oversize radishes since the colonial era, when the Spaniards brought over the magenta root vegetable in the hulls of their ships. In the late–19th century, merchants began carving them as a marketing ploy, and in 1897, Oaxaca City’s mayor, Francisco Vasconcelos, turned the practice into a festival to promote Christmas shopping. As the sculptures grew more elaborate, locals stopped eating the radishes and used them as decorative table centerpieces instead.
Today, the local government maintains dedicated plots at the northern tip of the nearby El Tequio Forest, where 20 tons of radishes lie just below the surface. Authorities carefully monitor their growth and distribution. Every year, the vegetables get heavier and more wildly shaped—which spurs the artists’ imaginations. Five days before the festival, the frantic harvest and cleaning process begins.
Oaxaca in December is bliss. The air is crisp, the skies are an unsullied blue, and the temperature hovers around 70 degrees. On judgment day, the creations stretch out like a joyful sea of pink and white opposite the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Assumption. Books have documented the history of this night, and its champion carvers—artists such as Rodolfo Morales and Francisco Toledo—are the stuff of local legend.
This year, 77-year-old Serafin Muñoz, an employee of the Administration Secretariat, is set to enter the competition for his 56th consecutive year. “I grew up with this tradition that my parents instilled in me,” he said in 2020, “and I have learned that through it, artists express … [their] feelings of love for Oaxaca.” On the day before Christmas, when his radish-born Virgin of Guadalupe begins to get brown around the edges, Muñoz will take her back to El Tequio Forest and leave her to fertilize the ground for next year.
Elena Clavarino is a Senior Editor at Air Mail
