The October Survival Guide: Comfort Food Recipes for When You’re Just Tired
By Maren — Home cook energy. Not chef energy. Let's make something good with what you've got. ·
When the 'Back to School' Slump Hits
It’s mid-October. The novelty of the new school year has officially worn off, the Minneapolis air has that biting ‘I might snow tomorrow’ crispness to it, and if I’m being honest? My energy levels are hovering somewhere between ‘need a nap’ and ‘need a hug.’
If you’re anything like me, this is the time of year when your kitchen starts to feel less like a creative sanctuary and more like a chore list. But here’s the thing: we don’t need to be chefs. We don’t need a 12-step recipe that requires a trip to three different specialty grocery stores. We just need to feed ourselves something that feels like a warm blanket.
I spent the weekend pulling out my grandma’s heavy cast iron skillets—the ones that have seen more winters than I have—and got back to basics. Gary the Sourdough Starter is bubbling away on the counter, and I’m ready to lean into what I call 'Home Cook Energy.' It’s about using what you have, making a mess, and actually enjoying the process. Let’s make something good.
The 'Fridge-Scrap' Pasta You Didn't Know You Needed
When I’m exhausted after a long day of wrangling seventh graders, I am not making a complex béchamel. I am making what I call 'The Whatever-Is-Left Pasta.'
The Method: 1. Boil whatever noodles you have (rotini, penne, even those weird broken linguine pieces at the bottom of the box). 2. While that’s going, heat a knob of butter in a skillet. Add a clove of garlic or some onion powder if you’re feeling fancy. 3. Throw in whatever wilting greens are in your crisper drawer—spinach, kale, or even that half-bag of frozen peas. 4. Toss the cooked pasta in, add a splash of the pasta water, a generous handful of parmesan, and a lot of black pepper.
That’s it. It’s not Michelin-star food. It’s dinner. It’s warm, it’s salty, and it takes ten minutes.
The Cast Iron Secret: Why Your Grandma Was Right
There’s a reason I refuse to cook in anything but my grandma’s cast iron pans. They hold heat like nothing else, and there’s something deeply grounding about cooking in a vessel that’s been seasoned by decades of hotdish and Sunday breakfasts.
If you’re intimidated by cast iron, stop. It’s not a science project. If it’s sticky, scrub it. If it’s dry, put a little oil on it. Don’t overthink it. My favorite October comfort food is a simple skillet roast: chop up whatever root vegetables you have—potatoes, carrots, maybe an onion—toss them in olive oil, salt, and rosemary, and shove the whole pan in the oven at 400°F until the edges are crispy. It’s cheap, it’s filling, and it makes the whole apartment smell like you actually have your life together.
Gary and the Art of Low-Stakes Baking
I know, I know—everyone on the internet makes sourdough look like an elite sport. It’s not. My starter, Gary, lives on my counter and sometimes I forget to feed him for three days. He survives. You can too.
If you have a starter, great. If you don’t, grab some store-bought biscuit dough or a simple quick-bread recipe. Baking is my love language, but in October, it’s also my therapy. There is something so tactile about kneading dough or mixing flour that forces you to put your phone down and just be in the kitchen. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, just bake a batch of basic scones. You don’t need a sourdough starter to make your house feel like home. You just need the smell of something browning in the oven.
Feeding Your Soul (And Your Budget)
We talk a lot about 'comfort food' as if it has to be expensive, decadent, or time-consuming. But true comfort is about accessibility. It’s about knowing that when you walk through your front door, you can pull three things from your pantry and make a meal that makes you feel human again.
My advice for the rest of the month? Stop trying to impress your Instagram followers. Stop scrolling for complex recipes that require ingredients you can’t pronounce. Go find the sad-looking onion in your drawer, the half-empty box of pasta, and the butter. Turn on a record, pour a glass of whatever you’re drinking, and just cook.
Cooking for yourself is the ultimate form of self-care. It’s me saying to myself, 'Maren, you had a hard day, but you’re worth feeding well.' And you are, too.
What’s your go-to comfort meal when you’re feeling drained? Are you a pasta person, a soup-and-sandwich person, or do you have a secret recipe that saves your sanity? Let’s talk about it in the comments—I’m always looking for new ideas to add to my rotation.