#winter kitchen

What a beauty!!! Look at those colours! A dish with fresh winter vegetables! Above all: black salsify, it is such a delicious root! I wish you a merry winter‘s dish as well

COZY KITCHENS FOR COOLER DAYS South Florida rarely sees frost, yet shorter daylight still calls for a little extra comfort indoors. A winter remodel lets finishes cure in low humidity and takes advantage of lighter permit queues—perfect timing for a polished, stress-free refresh. TEN IDEAS HEATING UP 2026 - Radiant porcelain flooring keeps feet warm without bulky rugs. - Steam-assist wall ovens lock in moisture for holiday roasts while using less energy. - Quartzite counters with subtle veining resist citrus stains and blend with coastal palettes. - Integrated induction cooktops deliver precise heat and wipe clean fast. - Layered LED scenes shift from prep-bright to dinner-soft at one touch. - Insulated, low-E glass sliders maintain indoor temps when breezes pick up. - Walk-in pantry with climate control shields spices from humidity swings. - Reclaimed wood accents add visual warmth without raising the thermometer. - Touch-free matte-black fixtures keep hands clean during big batch cooking. - Hidden charging shelves corral tablets used for recipes and smart-home apps. WHY START NOW? Design–build coordination means one contract, one schedule, and quicker access to specialized trades. With energy bills dropping during the mild season, funds can shift toward high-efficiency appliances that pay dividends year-round. A thoughtful winter upgrade turns the kitchen into a welcoming hub for every gathering—before peak entertaining returns with spring.

Winter Kitchen by Tamara Thomsen This Week's Paired: Tamara Thomsen + Jessica Greenbaum For a Traveler I only have a moment so let me tell you the shortest story, about arriving at a long loved place, the house of friends in Maine, their lawn of wildflowers, their grandfather clock and candid portraits, their gabled attic rooms, and woodstove in the kitchen, all accessories of the genuine summer years before, when I was their son’s girlfriend and tied an apron behind my neck, beneath my braids, and took from their garden the harvest for a dinner I would make alone and serve at their big table with the gladness of the found, and loved. The eggplant shone like polished wood, the tomatoes smelled like their furred collars, the dozen zucchini lined up on the counter like placid troops with the onions, their minions, and I even remember the garlic, each clove from its airmail envelope brought to the cutting board, ready for my instruction. And in this very slight story, a decade later, I came by myself, having been dropped by the airport cab, and waited for the family to arrive home from work. I walked into the lawn, waist-high in the swaying, purple lupines, the subject of   June’s afternoon light as I had never been addressed — a displaced young woman with cropped hair, no place to which I wished to return, and no one to gather me in his arms. That day the lupines received me, and I was in love with them, because they were all I had left, and in that same manner I have loved much of the world since then, and who is to say there is more of a reason, or more to love? Jessica Greenbaum