At the market, I spotted pink stalks of rhubarb, brightly colored Easter egg radishes that I want to shave onto salads like piñata confetti, and pea shoots with their curling tendrils, adding that earthy green flavor to as many dishes as I can think to throw them into

Snow at the threshold, forsythia at the window, and green nettle soup for early March.

The ritual helps. A steeped elixir. A witchy brew, if you will. I swirl in honey and too much milk to make something sweet enough to hold. I’m hoping to tamp down the sharp edges. I’m wishing for soft slumber. I want rest so I can continue to stand up to the rest of February.

Also, let me say this as a chef and a long-time teacher: you do not need to cook “impressively” to cook well. You need a plan you can repeat when you’re tired, hungry, and one mild inconvenience away from ordering takeout with the intensity of a life choice

December can be a strange month in the kitchen. You’ve got holiday expectations, end-of-year fatigue, a fridge full of “good intentions,” and maybe a tiny voice whispering that you should be doing more: more hosting, more baking, more “festive magic.” If that sounds familiar, take a deep breath. Your kitchen doesn’t need to look like a movie set to be meaningful. It just needs to feel like yours . I’m Shannon, the cook behind Cook’s Culinary Collective. I’ve spent decades in