Munching mood

Sometimes nothing beats some good old-fashioned comfort eating, says Sophie White, who, of late, has attempted to eat her way out of a grump

The first day of October feels like it should be the first day of autumn. Technically, it’s not the official first day of autumn was just over a week ago, on September 22: the autumnal equinox. Still, it feels like the chill could begin today. Or maybe you felt the chill start up a couple of weeks ago, on some crisp evening that was still bright, but carried the promise of autumn and the fireside.

For me, I carried some kind of chill deep inside all summer. In fact, I’m coming up to an anniversary of sorts this month. My second son will be one year old, and that same weekend marks the beginning whispers of this soul-chill.

It was that same weekend one year ago that my father got his first pardon from death. The first time I realised “Come immediately — they say he may not last the night” is not a histrionic phrase that is only used in books and movies. Sometimes it is there in a text, as bland and plain as, “Do we need milk?” He did last the night, though not the year.

This summer, I made a lot of mistakes. I dyed my hair blue. I deep-fried an Oreo. I let people down. I got angry with all the wrong people. I enjoyed a brief dalliance with a deeply unflattering pair of dungarees. I drank too much wine. I felt sorry for myself.

I’d like to say that this change of season will put all these bothersome mistakes to bed, but that hardly seems likely, does it?

What is certain is that things will march on, the days will get shorter, the mornings will be baltic, and still it will be impossible to anticipate what is the appropriate thing “Now that it’s autumn, everyone will be feeling equally hard done by and we can all moan together” to wear each day. That said, I love autumn, and I am welcoming this one particularly — after all, at least now my nihilism will match the weather.

An extended bad mood in summer just does not fit. Everyone is just so damn chipper it’s exhausting. At least now that it’s autumn, everyone will be feeling equally hard done by, and we can all moan together.

Moaning, I’ve decided, is a medicinal activity that is vastly underrated by our present culture of pathological positivity. Relentless positivity of the inspirational-quote sort that’s endemic on social media drives me into a rage. Moaning is good for the soul. If you are moaning at a steady rate, then surely you are far less likely to lash out violently at any old provocation.

My other medicine for a malaise of the soul (or just garden-variety ire at the weather and the return of opaque tights) is some good old-fashioned comfort eating.

Comfort eating is nothing new, but it has been pilloried of late with the rise of moralising about whether our meals are ‘clean’ or ‘dirty’. However, the fact is, it’s a very human impulse, and can be nourishing and restorative. If you’re out of practice with comfort eating, this warming hotpot will ease you back in.