Winter has barely touched the highlands of Gran Canaria when, like a promise renewed each year, the spectacle unfolds: the almond blossom. These are not just flowers; they are brushstrokes of history, a ceremonial mantle of whites and pinks that stretches across the deep green of Tejeda, Valsequillo, and, of course, San Bartolomé de Tirajana. In this ephemeral landscape resides the soul of the summit, a historical and cultural connection as sweet as the seed itself.
The Canary Islands Institute of Traditions (ICT) notes that this fruit "arrived on the islands with the settlers from the 15th century onwards, proliferating in municipalities such as San Bartolomé de Tirajana, Tejeda, Valsequillo, the highlands of Ingenio (La Pasadilla), Artenara, San Mateo, and a small area in the highlands of the Agaete Valley, with the first three being where the largest wooded areas are currently preserved." It is estimated that Gran Canaria has more than 50 different varieties, with a large number of centuries-old almond trees. Among the best known to locals are the 'mollar', "characterized by its great sweetness," the so-called 'double kernel' variety common in Valsequillo and Tejeda, and the 'fallía' or 'moruna', with a very hard shell but sweet fruit. "Of all the varieties, there have always been bitter almond trees, which were distinguished from the rest because the owners placed a stone among their branches," the ICT points out.
The almond, or the almond tree as it's affectionately known in the Canary Islands, didn't arrive alone; it brought with it a way of life. The centuries-old varieties—the sweet Mollar, the lush double-pepita—born in these highlands, with their hard or soft shells, were for centuries the currency of subsistence and the social fabric. Who can forget the memory of the "juntas"? Those summer nights when, after a day's work, the residents of Tejeda and Tirajana gathered not only to shell the precious fruit, but to weave together stories, to share conversations and dances in the warmth of their labor.
It is precisely within this context of deep roots and tradition that a battle of flavor and pride bordering on the absurd is brewing. While Tirajana defends the heritage of its centuries-old almond growers, Tejeda has flirted, in the media sphere, with promoting the nut of an industrial giant: Ferrero Rocher hazelnuts. And it is here that hearts break and island pride rises. How can the sweet, native treasure of the midlands, the noblest and most ancient almond of the island, be relegated by the ephemeral glitter and imported hazelnut of a chocolate that feigns luxury? The marzipan of Teror, the bienmesabe of Tejeda, the artisanal polvorones... all are direct descendants of this fruit, shaken by the men and harvested by the women of the highlands.
The almond of Gran Canaria is, in itself, a sentimental designation of origin. Its wood warmed homes, its shells fueled fires, and its oil healed wounds. It is the living legacy of a landscape built on effort and community. In contrast to the fleeting interest in promoting the glamour of a global brand, the true wealth lies in the pink and white blossom that, each year, reminds us that the heart of the island beats with the unmistakable sweetness of its own almond. It is a heritage that needs neither golden wrappings nor festive lights, but rather the recognition of its own history.
