six things I think about winter cooking (I'm so excited for winter cooking!)
On Monday afternoon, I sat on my couch and watched summer end in D.C. It had been close to 80 degrees that morning. I was hot when I went for a walk. And then the skies darkened and the wind blew and the confused leaves that had fallen off trees in late-October heat swirled. I love summer. I hated watching this. But as much as I’m dreading shivering in my winter coat, I am so, so ready for winter cooking.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what dinners I want to make in the next few weeks and what I want to conjure up for Thanksgiving, and in the process, I decided to jot down six things I think about winter cooking (and baking, and drinking). I hope this inspires you — or gives you something to think about, at the very least.
In no particular order, six things I think about eating and drinking and feeling full and happy in the fall and winter:
1. You can’t beat a braise.
Earlier this year, in the depths of D.C. August malaise, I paged through a new cookbook past recipe after recipe for delicious braises. I was sitting on my front porch at dusk, swatting mosquitoes, and I wished I could fast-forward.
There is no dinner I enjoy cooking more than a braise. Braised anything! Tender, falling-off-the-bone meat, vegetables cooked in wine and fat and stock … I’m getting riled up just thinking about it. The only thing I hate about braising is that for half the year, it’s impractical. The kitchen gets too hot, and there are too many peak-season fruits and vegetables to be bothered with all that low and slow cooking. So for half the year, I grill, and for half the year, my blue Dutch oven is my dearest companion.
I’m a big proponent, when it comes to braising, of Dutch ovens over slow cookers. That’s in part because I live in a city kitchen with a small footprint — which means my slow cooker lives on a shelf so high, it requires a stepladder — but mostly because I just like the old-fashioned way of doing things. Instead of browning ingredients in the Dutch oven and then transferring them to your Crock-Pot, you simply commit to one pan, fewer dishes — and a slightly better final product, I tend to think.
Of course there are reasons to use a slow cooker. If you want to put dinner together before you leave for work and have it ready when you return, Crock-Pot to your heart’s content. But if you’re going to be home and you don’t need a 10-hour wait between starting and finishing the cooking process, go Dutch oven every time. (It’s worth noting that lots of recipes on reputable sites offer a Dutch oven version and a slow cooker version — and sometimes an Instant Pot version, too. I haven’t waded into the world of Instant Pots and probably never will. Anyways: If there are no alternate versions, it’s not hard to convert a slow cooker recipe to the oven, and vice versa. This handy Williams-Sonoma blog post offers some guidance.)
If you’re now craving a braise (I am!), here are three of my favorites: Alison Roman’s tangy braised short ribs, Molly Baz’s chicken Marbella with dates and Israeli couscous and Smitten Kitchen’s broken pasta with pork ragu.
2. Give me all the fennel, please.
Fennel season begins in the fall and stretches through most of the winter, depending on where you live. Go to your local farmer’s market as soon as you can and buy a few bulbs.
I’ll admit: Fennel used to freak me out. I’d always heard it tasted like licorice, and licorice isn’t always my flavor of choice. Fortunately, I emerged from that delusion a few years ago, and now I’m here to evangelize: Yes, raw fennel, especially the fronds, does taste a bit like licorice, but not overwhelmingly so. (Frankly, if licorice tasted like fennel, I might like it.) And fennel bulb, when cooked, caramelizes into a slightly-sweet, somewhat savory, soft and crispy delight. It’s a great complement in a saltier dish — like in this recipe for scalloped potatoes, which I make every Christmas — and delicious on its own, too.
Want more fennel-forward recipes? I’ve got you. Try Molly Baz’s cheesy fennel and beans baked in cream (I didn’t say any of this was light), or this skirt steak with kale, fennel and feta salad, or this fennel and apple salad with hazelnuts.
3. Goodbye, avocados.
See you next spring. The other day, when I made chicken quesadillas, my husband asked if I’d also made guacamole. I told him guacamole season is over, at least in our household. I’m done spending money on avocados that have crossed international borders to get to me. The same goes for most other produce items that are no longer in season anywhere near where I live. Groceries are expensive enough, and I want what I buy to taste good — or, at bare minimum, to taste like something, which is more than I can say about a November strawberry or a December tomato.
I’m sorry to pick on avocados when I’m clearly describing a more sweeping seasonal change in how I shop. But I am fascinated by the avocado industry and how seamlessly we, as Americans, got used to having our favorite fatty fruits available year-round. I’ve read a lot about the imports of avocados from Mexico — especially after imports were temporarily paused in 2022 — and I’m not sure what, exactly, I think about how that information should change my behavior. For now, though, I’m just going to keep on roasting carrots and munching on leafy greens until springtime.
4. It’s (almost) egg nog season.
I love egg nog. It can be a dessert! It can be a cocktail! It’s like a milkshake for when it’s slightly too cold out to drink a milkshake!
Egg nog can be kind of a pain to make — but I promise, the process seems worse than it is. I’ve made versions of this Bon Appétit recipe (with and without booze) to great success. In years when I’ve got my act together, I also love making aged egg nog. This happened to be one of those years, and now the upper shelf of my fridge is almost entirely taken up by jugs of the stuff.
5. There’s no need to stick to pie when it comes to Thanksgiving desserts.
I wrote a bit about pie last week, hinting at my general dislike of basic Thanksgiving pies. I know this take goes against prevailing public opinion, and I’m happy for all of you who look forward to pumpkin pie each year. I’m just not able to. I think that’s in part because my birthday is right around Thanksgiving, so growing up, our dessert table always included a birthday cake of my choosing. So I never ate pie, always cake, and it never became part of what I craved each November.
That’s not to say I don’t love pies on Thanksgiving as an adult. (My family moved on as a family from the birthday cake tradition about two decades ago.) I always make at least one nontraditional pie — coconut cream or sweet potato-miso, to name some favorites — and I usually venture beyond the realm of crust and filling, too. This year, I’m contemplating making Alison Roman’s chocolate tart, from her new-ish book, “Sweet Enough.” I’m also a big proponent of a Thanksgiving bread pudding, and don’t sleep on Thanksgiving cheesecakes.
Pies keep for days. There is always leftover pie. Have something else on Thursday, and spend Friday until … whenever having pie for breakfast.
6. It’s time to restock and rearrange your bar.
Out with the tequila, mezcal, Aperol and white wine. It’s all banished to a back shelf, effective now. It’s officially whiskey and red wine season.
Yesterday, I browsed the whiskey display at the liquor store and brought home a bottle of Calumet Farm Small Batch, which I haven’t tried yet and can’t vouch for. I’m also about to order another bottle of King’s County’s peated whiskey, which I can wholeheartedly endorse.
Another incoming favorite: Scribe’s nouveau of pinot noir. A nouveau wine is, by definition, meant to be released in the same year the grapes were harvested — and then consumed quickly thereafter. If you’re a French wine person, you know about Beaujolais nouveau, a wine that has actual laws governing that it be released on the third Thursday of November. (This year, that’s Nov. 16.)
These wines are, above all else, drinkable. Like, stop paying attention, and you’ll down a whole bottle. They’re not complex or fancy; they’re juicy. And so it goes with Scribe’s nouveau of pinot noir, which I order every year as soon as it’s released — and which is gone within days of landing on my doorstep. That’s a good thing, though. You’re not supposed to age these guys. You’re supposed to throw a party.