How to survive winter - the English way
10 pleasures of the most practical kind
Not everything we do has to serve a purpose beyond our own delight. Sometimes, that’s enough.
The English are well-versed in the art of unearthing winter’s pleasures. We’ve had to be. This is the season that shapes us, cultivating a quiet resilience. Once the winter solstice arrives and autumn’s warm reds give way to a landscape dark and grey, the cold seeps into your bones. Winds, relentless and sharp, weave their way through every layer, finding skin no matter how carefully wrapped. The morning fog hangs heavy in the air, and the short days feel pinched by a darkness so deep, it seems to swallow the contours of the day. At this time of year it’s best to surrender to the moody romance of it all.
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Despite—or perhaps because of—its rigors, winter offers pleasures that feel earned. There’s the joy of a bitterly cold morning walk: trees hunched and stoic, bent beneath the weight of a frost-laden wind. The air carries the scent of smoke and roasting chestnuts. Boots crunch through iced grass, the stillness broken only by the rhythm of your breath. Returning home, cheeks flushed and burning from the chill, I lean against the oven’s gentle heat, a mug of something spiced and steaming pressed to my cheek, its warmth blooming soft and rosy against my skin.
If, like me, you find yourself carrying a strange melancholy after Christmas, this guide is for you. Rather than the typical new year’s resolution list or predictions for 2025, consider this a guide to pleasures of the most practical kind. For those who relish winter—or anyone bracing for the months ahead with a sense of existential dread, let’s embrace the season rather than wishing it away. Spring may be for new beginnings, but winter is for hunkering down—quietly nurturing yourself and others, growing at a slower pace, preparing, contemplating. Hibernating.
I realize this may sound overly romantic—and perhaps it is. Life moves quickly, and its demands never cease. Yet winter offers a chance to slow down, to savor and enjoy. Be gentle with yourself. Here, you’ll find inspiration for what to cook, eat, listen to, create and cherish in the months ahead. Rather than wishing winter away, think of wintering as a way of being and doing. And with this approach in mind, here are some ideas as to how to begin the year.
Cook, eat, drink tea (or hot chocolate), and repeat
Now is the time to cook slowly. In winter, I feel a deep need for comfort and sustenance. For me, the kitchen is a warm retreat. A place to hunker down. A place to be wholly centered.
The joy of hot chocolate in the morning
Winter mornings stretch slowly. I rise later, reluctant to leave the velvet darkness. The kitchen calls before I’m fully awake. With eyes still half-shut, I whisk bitter dark chocolate into steaming milk. The first sip of the thick, velvety elixir stings my lips in the most pleasurable way. Meanwhile, the heady aroma snakes through the house, a quiet but insistent invitation to the rest of the family to rise. During this season, I'm totally committed to extravagance, especially when it comes to my morning beverage. Why else would I want to exchange the comforting embrace of a warm bed for the chill of rising on an icy morning? There is certainly nothing more comforting than cozying up in PJs and double layers of jumpers whilst hugging a hot cup of liquid chocolate.
Breakfast, lunch and supper
And speaking of pleasure and winter cravings, for weekend breakfasts I hungrily produce either a steaming bowl of hot rice pudding with blood orange caramel or honeyed baked persimmons resplendent in their glistening sugary decadence.
As for lunch and supper? Salads simply won’t do—unless, of course, it’s a salad of radicchio, dressed with pomegranate vinaigrette, and smothered in a warm, melting sauce of crème fraîche and Camembert. But let’s be honest - in the colder months, it’s best not to argue with your body. What once might have been a survival instinct—the need for hearty, rib-sticking food—has evolved into something far more pleasurable. Winter appetites are about comfort, indulgence, and the joy of eating something that feels like a woolen blanket for your soul.
For the evening, the hearty comfort of a slow-cooked stew becomes greater than the sum of its parts. And, if I don’t crave meat, vegetables, once snugly nestled in the earth, are transformed into rich, rustic soups made with a little bit of this and a little bit of that.
For supper, aromatic brown-butter savory porridge with buttered leeks, chili flakes and boiled eggs provides an appetite-satisfying bowlful of deliciousness. Likewise, crisp Bramley apples dunked in molten alpine cheese, paired with fragrant mulled wine that has been gently simmering on the stove, is an anytime option, either for yourself or a crowd.
Yes, it’s true, these moments of joy and nourishment sustain me through the cold dark months of winter. In cooking as in life, slow is the best way.
Recipes to make
Thick hot chocolate (with Chantilly cream)
Mulled wine
A cuppa tea (English breakfast tea, whole milk, one sugar - perfect)
Rice pudding
Savory brown butter porridge
Soups (of all kinds, but especially garlic soup)
Fondue
Poached chicken and homemade chicken stock (the gift that keeps on giving)
Saffron poached bostock (a bostock is a slice of stale brioche brought back to life with syrup, almond cream, baked until golden and irresistible - a clever way to turn day-old bread into something gorgeous)
Recipes below!
Don’t make new year’s resolutions
Rather, feed yourself creatively. We are expected to recalibrate and establish new resolutions and fresh beginnings featuring routines based on fasting regimes, strenuous exercise and the renunciation of alcohol. Although not adverse to following the principle of moderation in all things, my body and mind instinctively resist the zealous demands of traditional new year self-improvement programs.
In the new year, my inclination is to defer the moment of rising, preferring the sense of hibernation that a warm bed and cozy blanket confer. Squaring up to the inevitable chill of a January morning, my first defense - apart from popping my daily vitamin D - is to sip a fruity herbal tea (or on weekends, a hot chocolate) from a chunky mug which I still cradle long after the last dregs have disappeared. After that, apart from maintaining my daily walk and stretching routine, I can be found surrounded by recipe books gathering as many ideas and as much inspiration as possible. Let’s face it, during winter, feeding yourself, your interests, your curiosities is a very good idea indeed.
And speaking of feeding yourself, whilst research provides inspiration, by late morning, I crave nothing more than a steaming bowl of hearty chicken soup with winter vegetables. Soup for breakfast during the coldest months keeps colds and sniffles at bay.
Walk, stroll, ramble, meander
The English have perfected the art of going for a walk - it’s the all-purpose remedy for everything. Feeling restless? Go for a walk. Ate too much lunch? Walk it off. Existential crisis looming? Lace up your boots and march it out. There’s a sort of quiet genius to it, really—a solution so simple you almost feel duped by how effective it is.
I understand that a grey, cold and frosty walk might not sound appealing at first, but there’s a quiet satisfaction in taking a winter stroll. Bundle up in at least four layers, take a steaming cup of tea (whole milk, one sugar), and give yourself the space to think and dream. Even if you only have 10 spare minutes, stepping outside can transform your mind and refresh your spirit. Trust me, it’s worth it.
A worthwhile note: the other day, my husband and father stumbled upon a dust-covered boomerang in the attic. On a whim, we decided to take it with us on a walk, and the joy it brought was immeasurable. For a moment, we were all children again.
Host, gather, commune
In the 90s, my mum belonged to two clubs: a dinner club and a book club. They met monthly to share stories, eat well, and enjoy one another’s company. At home, from the age of five, I’d assist her as she prepared for these specific gatherings as well as an endless stream of dinner parties, lunches and suppers, welcoming neighbors, friends, or anyone who might drop by. During this time my mother taught me that preparing special food doesn’t require a special occasion. For her, food was a conduit for connection.
In the midst of life’s busyness, hosting can feel overwhelming—especially now that cooking is my full-time job. Yet I’m determined not to lose the joy associated with preparing food: the pleasure, the connection, the chance to gather with loved ones. It’s something I want to hold onto.
In winter, whether you live in a tiny flat or a sprawling house, creating a sense of community from home is one of the most rewarding things you can do. I’ve learned a few tricks along the way, for instance: make homemade chocolate chip cookie dough, portion it into individual cookies, and freeze them. Everyone loves warm, homemade cookies, they fill your home with the most heavenly aroma, and they’re ready in just 12–15 minutes—perfect for last-minute guests, no matter their age.
Speaking of last-minute guests, here are a few delicious essentials to keep on hand for those just-in-case moments:
Pasta
Butter beans (a quick and glorious lunch or supper: butter beans with olive oil, Parmesan, a dash of vermouth, herbs, salt, and pepper, served on sourdough toast)
Canned tomatoes
Tomato paste
Frozen chicken stock (great for everything, but especially last minute soup)
Parmesan cheese (or any cheese for that matter)
Dried herbs and spices
Olives, pepperoncini peppers, caperberries, etc. (perfect for creating a variety of dirty martinis, pintxos gilda or a small ‘picky bits’ selection)
Extra virgin olive oil
Quality French butter
Frozen cookie dough
A frozen loaf of bread (endlessly useful)
A few bars of dark chocolate (whisk it into warm milk for an indulgent hot chocolate—extra fun to prepare with a friend)
Tinned fish
Crackers
Gin (for dirty martinis, gin and tonics, or whatever you fancy)
Vermouth (see butter beans above!)
Wine
A note on making friends as an adult
Speaking of connection, I’ve often wondered why making new friends as an adult feels so daunting. Yet, it’s never too late to find your people. Living between two countries—the US and the UK—has made it especially challenging to build deep, lasting connections. Just as we settle in one place, it’s time to return to the other.
Recently, though, my husband and I joined a church near our home in California. I didn’t know what to expect, having fallen out of the habit of church attendance, but I was truly humbled by the kindness of the people I met. We instantaneously bonded with a couple in their 70s, sharing many dinners and listening in awe as they recounted the remarkable stories and adventures of their faith-filled lives. Not long after, when I discovered my father had cancer, their love, prayers, and concern—despite our relatively new acquaintance—meant the world to me. It was a profound reminder of the strength of love and community.
In the new year, my husband and I plan to join a church here in the UK, but if you're seeking something fresh, any local group can offer a wonderful opportunity to build connections. I know taking the first step can feel intimidating, but there are others, like you, also searching for real friendship and something deeper. I certainly feel a renewed sense of hope at the possibility of forming meaningful relationships and finding a supportive local community once again.
Write, sketch, doodle
Start a Winter Journal. There’s something deeply therapeutic about carving out a small slice of your day for the purpose of self-expression. My notebooks are a jumble of recipes, scattered thoughts and sketches—a mix of creativity and catharsis. Somehow, I always feel lighter after spending this time with pen and paper.
My notebook of choice is a Moleskine. It feels special, with just the right weight in hand, as well as an elastic binder that gives a sense of privacy—as though your secrets are being guarded. The daily act of recording thoughts and feelings is a small ritual, but one that brings clarity and calm to the winter days.
Make a den
Do you remember the scene in The Holiday where Cameron Diaz’s character meets Jude Law’s kids, and they insist on showing her the den in their room? There is something that makes this magical, cozy, heavenly space so inviting, no matter one’s age. Dens aren’t just for children. I’m 35, and each winter evening I create my own welcoming, comforting nestlike space. It’s a simple but deeply cozy ritual that brings me great joy.
I carve out a little nook in my favorite corner of the sofa, pile up several blankets, fluff the cushions, light candles, turn on fairy lights, brew a cup of spiced tea, and then settle in to read, watch TV, write, think, or snack on clementines. It’s a comforting routine—something to look forward to during those dreary, grey days. In a season when everything feels a little heavier, having a small ritual can add great restorative value to your daily routine.
Listen to the radio
When I’m home alone—which, admittedly, isn’t often—I crave a little background sound. Classical, jazz, and soul sounds are my preferred companions. My father still has the radio he bought me as a Christmas gift when I was about 11—a gadget that, at the time, was the epitome of cool. Remarkably, it has survived three house moves and still works perfectly. It’s a workhorse—nothing sleek or stylish, just a humble presence that sits unobtrusively on a chair, playing jazz throughout the day. There’s a certain comfort in having something that isn’t controlled by a phone or a screen—just a simple, reliable object that offers a sense of calm without any distractions. No screens, just music, and even the radio ads have their own quaint appeal. The sound of winter—the wind howling, rain tapping softly on the windowsill—accompanied by the steady, comforting hum of music in the background is deeply satisfying.
Go on a drive
I’m not sure if this is just an English tradition, but as a child, during winter—especially around this time when everyone’s been cooped up together—going for a drive seemed to be the perfect remedy. We didn’t have a set destination, just staying local (within 15-30 minutes), and would often end up at a nearby café, sharing a slice of cake. We'd bundle up (remember, a minimum of four layers), and let the road take us wherever it led. Nowadays, for my sanity, I also tend to avoid big chains, preferring to support local shops, pubs, restaurants and cafés. If you're venturing out alone, perhaps take a book (or notebook) and an open mind. You never know who you might encounter or what ideas might unfold.
Puzzles, cards and board games (Grandma activities)
Put the kettle on (or pour a glass of wine), light a few candles, and let the strains of jazz (see above) meander through the room. It’s time to start a thousand-piece puzzle. Stay with me—if the thought fills you with dread, I understand. I’m the most impatient person you’re likely to meet. Whilst I find the act of bringing order to chaos rewarding (perhaps why cooking suits me so well) sitting down quietly to do one singular thing for an extended stretch of time is like asking a squirrel to focus on algebra (I can’t stand algebra).
When my husband unboxed his new puzzle, I recoiled in horror. Who has the patience for that? But then, curiosity (or perhaps sheer boredom) nudged me to attempt adding in a piece or two. And to my astonishment, I became hooked. There’s something oddly soothing about the process of sorting and matching as if the jigsaw organizes not just its pieces, but also the jumble in your head. It’s meditative, almost magical—a rare indulgence in stillness, at least for me.
A few other suggestions
Lately, I’ve found another unexpected joy: a card game called 13. Take my word for it—this is coming from someone whose card game repertoire peaked with Snap at the age of seven. 13 is addictive and wonderfully simple, though I’ll spare you the rules here (YouTube will sort you out far better than I ever could).
And for those evenings when you crave a bit more drama? Monopoly, of course. A classic for a reason—equal parts strategy, luck, and the perfect amount of familial competition and chaos.
Sometimes, it’s these small diversions—a puzzle, a game, a lingering moment with candlelight and jazz—that remind you to exhale.
Hobbies and leisure
This winter, I’ve decided to master the art of pastry—purely for the pleasure of it. Not because it’s on some professional to-do list, but because it feels exciting and challenging. Viennoiserie, choux, laminated dough—you name it. It’s the kind of project that promises good things.
Curation as a hobby
The other day, I came across the phrase ‘curation as a hobby’ (though I can’t recall where), and it stopped me in my tracks. I’ve always been a collector and a curator, long before I even had the words to describe the activity. When I was six, I claimed a cobwebbed corner of the house and turned it into my ‘office’. I filled a jam jar with coloring pencils, borrowed an office notepad from my dad, and set about the very serious task of organizing my Hello Kitty sticker collection. Scrapbooks crammed with magazine clippings, photo albums bursting with Polaroids, jars of shells from Pembrokeshire beaches—these quiet little projects of joy have always been part of me. They’re proof that even the smallest acts of curation can feel like crafting a tiny, personal world.
It’s made me realize how important it is to create time for these things: leisure, curation, research. If you need convincing, there’s a wonderful piece about Research As A Way of Life here by Olga Koutseridi. It’s a good reminder that not everything we do has to serve a purpose beyond our own delight. Sometimes, that’s enough.
Earlier, I mentioned recipes—and here they are, neatly gathered below for you. Even better, they’re available as a handy downloadable PDF, because sometimes it’s nice to have something tangible to prop up in the kitchen whilst you cook.
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