Winter Tiredness
When it feels like the weather calls all the shots
Food For Thought.
The weather will decide which version of me you will get. Get me on a blue skies day and you'll be met with a sort of hazy hysteria. I'll want to walk. Grab coffee multiple times a day. I'll regale you with stories of how much I love London, as if the sun is a portal to nostalgia. Alternatively, find me on a bleak grey skies weekday, buried in work and you might see me sitting at my desk, motionless, having not left the flat all day, lost in an existential crisis, wondering what the point of London is. What can I say? It's a real pot luck of emotions spending time with me.
Winter has most definitely arrived, with a brute, gale force bang. And with it a certain tiredness that waxes and wanes with the shorter days. During these months I feel like my spirit animal is a bear, willingly readying a nest for hibernation. Yesterday I slept in until 10am. If you know me, you'll understand this is absolutely unheard of.
Recently this seasonal, physical tiredness – which is much better than the mental exhaustion I've felt over the past year – has been compounded by the fact that I have slung my body into a daily routine of working out (another shock). Walk into my flat mid-morning and you'll find me flossing and doing jumping jacks to the beat, and actually generally having a great time (I've signed up to The Class and I'm about ready to join the cult). Because of this new burst of energy, I've been craving vegetables like never before and it feels so good.
And while usually winter makes me long for dreamy, heat-spiked summer days – which I was reminded of as photos from a late summer shoot in Cornwall emerged online, all sunsets and beers and coastal swims and crisps for dinner – I've been finding joy in the deep and cosy pockets of winter. Developing a routine that fits in with the 4pm darkness. Like walking to the Barbican at 10am under crisp blue skies and working outside until my fingers freeze. Then rewarding myself with a Leon lunch. Or discovering the new café (De Beauvoir, get yourself to Batch Baby, you'll see me there most days, chugging multiple cups of filter coffee) and setting up there for a couple of hours when it's a little gloomy outside. Or going to the cinema alone at 4pm on a Tuesday, where I'm likely to be the only person there (this happened to me last week).
It's time to crowd around tables in pubs (The Plimsoll for Four Legs' famed cheeseburger and fried potatoes with aioli!), eat toast and tea for an afternoon pick-me-up, pick up late night pizzas after pints, cook creamy pastas and make batches of roasted vegetables on a Sunday for winter salads during the week.
I used to feel self-defined by summer and all the carefree whimsy that comes with it. But winter has its wildness, too. Just a reminder that even when it feels like it, the weather, the seasons, the gale force winds, the darkness, the glimmering sun, the falling rain, the hopeless mist: it doesn't define you. It's just what you walk through to get to the other side.
Recipes-not-recipes™️
It's a strange truth that my love for Leon runs deep. To the point where I've – on multiple occasions – considered either getting a chicken aioli rice box on Deliveroo, or diverted my route home via one of their restaurants to get one. An odd obsession. But one day after walking past not one but five Leons, I managed to curtail my need to go in and order a rice box, slaw and baked fries and instead resolved to make my own slaw. Because I'm a grown up with cabbage in my fridge and less than three digits in my bank account.
You’ll need:
Savoy mi-soy slaw
1/2 head savoy cabbage
1/2 cup edamame beans
Handful of chopped coriander
Pickled carrots/fennel/onion (jarred!)
1 tsp miso paste
2 tbsp Kewpie mayo
1 tsp soy sauce
Juice of 1/2 lemon
Black sesame seeds
In a large bowl add the miso paste, soy sauce, lemon juice and a splash of water and whisk so the miso dissolves. Then add in the Kewpie and mix through. On a chopping board, place the cabbage face down and using a very sharp knife, start slicing it thinly so it almost looks shredded. Roughly chop the coriander. Add both the cabbage and coriander into the bowl along with the edamame beans and a few forkfuls of pickled veg (if using). Give it a good toss, making sure the mayo mixture is getting embedded in all the nooks and crannies. Feel free to add more mayo (a motto in my kitchen). Sprinkle a generous amount of black sesame seeds and maybe a few grinds of pepper. Salt if you think you need it. More lemon juice to cut through the richness. I served mine with some spicy salmon and chicken fat rice one night. Then used the rest to mix into a winter salad (see last week’s recipe-not-recipe!) for a few days after that.
Leftovers.
I watched Shiva Baby and found it so compelling, tense to the point of wanting to look away and perfectly soundtracked.
Quite literally late to the party. Newly obsessed with Brock Colyar's column, Are U Coming?, for The Cut. Basically a blow-by-blow of weekly parties, all in the name of journalism.
This lobster and chive tart is so plump and sexy it should be illegal quite honestly.
An extremely important PSA about pasta.
Boiled eggs, toast and compté really is a perfect winter breakfast.
The unmatched therapy of watching Cabin Corn make raviolo.
An interesting read on the politics of ‘society’ and whether it’s unravelling as we speak, via The Guardian.
It’s soup and sammie season. Very inspired by Wine N Rind’s taleggio and bolognese toastie.
Re-read Jia Tolentino’s essay on self-optimisation and was reminded of The Awl’s piece on The Whole-Grain Startup – on the weirdness of the Sweetgreen obsession.
Really enjoyed listening to Pandora Sykes’ Doing It Right episode with Arthur Brooks (of The Atlantic) on introverts and extroverts.
Looking for curated vintage French homeware? My wonderful friend Coco told me about her wonderful friend’s business: Pétit Tresor. Ships to the UK and everything.