April always feels like a gentle exhale. The darker months begin to loosen their grip, the light stretches further into the evening, and kitchens start to shift with the season, becoming lighter, brighter and a little more hopeful.
It’s a month of small changes rather than grand gestures. Windows open a little wider, meals edge towards the fresh and the simple, and plans for spring begin to take shape in quiet, everyday ways.
In this month’s letter, I’ve been leaning into that feeling, cooking with the season as it turns, thinking about where to wander next, and finding stories that suit these longer, softer evenings.
At this time of year I always find myself returning to simple, seasonal cooking, the sort that doesn’t feel heavy but still brings everyone to the table. A roast chicken is hard to beat, especially when it’s brightened with lemon, fresh herbs and a generous hand with bay.
It’s the kind of meal that shifts easily with the season: crisp roast potatoes and tender vegetables one day, then leftovers folded into a lighter, herb-laden salad with a spoonful of aioli the next.
And if you’re stocking up on seasonal vegetables, Riverford is offering £15 off your second order through my referral link. I receive the same as a thank-you, which makes it a nice way to support the site as well.
April also seems to bring those half-forgotten bits of Easter chocolate that linger after the long weekend, far too good to waste but not always enough to do very much with on their own. This is exactly the sort of moment when a batch of browned butter chocolate chip cookies earns its keep.
The browned butter gives them a deeper, almost nutty richness, and they work beautifully with broken-up Easter eggs or whatever good chocolate is left in the cupboard. Warm from the oven, they feel like the sort of small indulgence spring still has room for.
My browned butter chocolate chip cookies are here if you’re in the mood to use up the last of the Easter chocolate.
With the season shifting, I always find myself looking a little closer to home for places that feel like a proper change of pace without too much planning. St Albans is exactly that: an easy, food-led escape with just enough history, markets and good places to eat to fill a day or a relaxed weekend.
It’s the sort of place where you can wander between coffee stops and independent kitchens, linger a little longer over lunch than intended, and finish the day with something sweet in hand.
If spring also brings the urge to get properly outdoors, Stanage Edge in the Peak District is hard to beat. It’s one of those places that feels wide and open in every direction, with big skies, sweeping views and just enough climb to make the fresh air feel well earned.
This time of year is particularly good for it: the light is softer, the crowds haven’t quite peaked, and the landscape is just beginning to shift out of winter.
It’s the sort of walk that clears your head completely, followed ideally by something warm and restorative afterwards.
April has a way of nudging us towards a reset. Windows open, cupboards get a second look, and the kitchen, after a winter of heavier cooking, starts to feel like it needs a little breathing space again.
I’ve always found that keeping things simple makes the biggest difference. A few small habits, a bit of regular upkeep, and suddenly the whole space feels easier to cook in, which at this time of year is exactly what you want.
My kitchen cleaning tips are here if you’re in the mood for a gentle spring reset.
This month, for the #ReadIrishWomen challenge, I'm recommending Mouthing by Orla Mackey, one of those books that makes you immediately want to press it into someone else’s hands the moment you’ve finished.
Set in the fictional village of Ballyrowan, “just about as good and as bad as you’ll get anywhere”, it unfolds through a patchwork of voices: gossips, watchers, the wounded and the judged. Stories overlap, secrets ripple through generations, and every character is convinced their version of events is the truth.
Mackey captures something very recognisable about small communities: the way people can hold both kindness and cruelty in equal measure, and the way stories are carried, reshaped and passed on. There’s real weight here — grief, shame and resilience — but it’s threaded through with sharp wit and a sense of rhythm that keeps it from ever feeling heavy.
It’s unsparing, fiercely observed and deeply human, the sort of novel that lingers long after the last page.
You can read more about Mouthing on Instagram if you’re curious.
Over the next few weeks I’ll be leaning further into that shift, with a few spring favourites on the way, some refreshed travel guides, and plenty more seasonal cooking in between.
Until then, I hope you find a little time for something good: a meal shared, a place explored, or a story that stays with you long after you’ve finished it.
Georgina
Culinary Travels
