Winter’s First Chill

The winter months are settling in over Melbourne. I stare out at an overcast sky where the swaying olive tree-tops are about to shed their final fruit, where the last chillies on the plant cling on for dear life, and where leaves on the moss-dusted boards say their final farewell. Something warm and fuzzy is happening. The scent of sun-tan lotion has given way to menthol; the cooling whirl of fans that once dried sweat from brows has surrendered to the crackle of fires and the hum of radiators. And those summer smells—barbecued steaks and sausages, fervent, tomato-bright salads strewn with salty cheeses, crisp cucumbers, dressings, capers, peaches, prosciutto, pears, nuts, and every imaginative combination in between; the fizz of beer bottles, the pops of corks, the glug of chardonnay and shiraz, the crack as whisky meets ice; dollops of cream and bursts of fresh red berries, the snap of meringues and the chocolatey squelch of mousse as a spoon dives in—have slipped into hibernation.

Craving Comfort

In their place we reach for *comfort*—for warmth—for something to drive away winter chills and make us feel wholesome again. Winter food, oh how wonderful you are and how much you’ve been missed: the smell, the steam, the heat, the patience, the deep, satisfying mmms and ahhs after that first forkful of rich stew and creamy mash. In these harsh temperate months we long for such pleasures—indeed, we’ve looked forward to them all year. The fire crackles, radiating a warmth that lulls us into a sleepy state of happiness—a scene no different from years gone by, when the evening meal was prepared right beside the flames. Transpose that to today’s modern hearth: a cast-iron casserole bubbling away while rain and wind beat and howl outside. The method has evolved, but the sentiment hasn’t changed. Fire and food still sate our need for warmth and security—the doors locked, the ambience glowing—before unctuous, flavoursome dishes travel from kitchen to plate, to bowl, to mouth, and finally to that ravenous tummy.

Emerson’s Wisdom on Warmth

When pondering our gravitation toward warm, comforting food, I recalled Ralph Waldo Emerson, the American poet, essayist, and all-round good egg. He wrote of shelter and warmth as primal satisfactions that let us meet the world “with as good appetite … as beside [our] own chimneys.” In History he celebrates the traveller who can “sleep as warm … in the snow,” evoking that longing for home-like warmth—our basic instinct for security and conviviality. And in *The Snow-Storm* he paints the retreat from nature’s hostility as housemates gather “around the radiant fireplace, enclosed in a tumultuous privacy of storm.” Emerson understood what we rediscover each winter: when the cold presses in, we lean toward a pot of gently bubbling stew and the promise of comfort that rises with its steam.

A Sprinkle of Science

So what is it about food that brings such comfort? Before we break down today’s dish—slow-cooked lamb shanks with a red-currant sauce atop buttery potato-and-parsnip purée—let’s pause for a sprinkle of science.

When our bodies experience cold temperatures, the mechanisms of heat conservation and diet-induced thermogenesis (DIT) kick in. We shiver and our blood vessels narrow—a bout of vasoconstriction that nudges blood pressure upward. After roughly six hours of chill, a cold-triggered hunger circuit (the thalamic ‘switch’) flips on, sending us rummaging for food. That explains those late-day hunger pangs after a frosty outing (see the 2023 Nature study from Scripps).

An evolutionary scarcity signal can also fire when we watch a snowy video or gaze over a winter landscape. Survival mode clicks on, energy-dense foods beckon, and salads simply don’t cut the mustard. Shorter daylight dims serotonin—our mood-balancing multitasker—so appetite and cravings climb. Carbohydrate-rich dishes like potatoes, pasta, and stews boost tryptophan (serotonin’s dietary building block), lifting spirits. That’s why comfort food is so comforting. And then there’s nostalgia: I think of Grandma’s roast dinners with their flavoursome, steaming gravy, or Mum’s slow-cooked ham-shank-and-lentil soup during those harsh Yorkshire winters.

The Hearty Star: Lamb Shanks & Purée

So to today’s dish: what’s so satisfying about lamb shank stew with a buttery purée of potatoes and roasted parsnip? You know the word ‘hearty.’ Well, when slow-braising lamb shanks their collagen—the connective tissue binding muscle, tendon, sinew, and bone—breaks down into silky gelatine. That lip-coating richness, sensed with every bite of fall-apart meat, is pure heartiness. Gelatine also brings glycine, which is linked to joint support and a calmer nervous system. Pretty amazing given that it tastes incredible too.

Then there’s the magic of the Maillard reaction as the shanks sear before their long baking. Amino acids and sugars combine to create volatile flavour compounds—roasty, meaty, and toasty—that send aromas swirling through the kitchen, turning heads and evoking the spirit of hunger.

The puréed potatoes and roasted parsnip add those tryptophan spikes we just mentioned, raising the levels of serotonin. Add the sweet and tart redcurrant sauce and the shank braise, and that buttery, velvety purée becomes a true bowl of homely decadence. Apart from tasting sensational (if I do say so myself), the whole dish radiates warmth: every forkful feels like an edible hot-water bottle. And if that hasn’t convinced you, either nothing will… or it’s the middle of summer where you are.

Let’s cook…