Yemi Adelekan is a Harrogate-based food writer and blogger who was a semi-finalist in the 2022 series of BBC TV’s Masterchef competition.

Yemi writes for the Stray Ferret about her love of the area’s food and shares cooking tips.

There is a moment in September when the air seems to change its mind. One day you're wearing sandals and eating cold salads, and the next you're reaching for a jumper, noticing the darker evenings and wondering whether it’s going to be soup for dinner.

I like autumn, in theory. I love the colours, the slowing down, the return of roasting tins and bubbling pots. But I also know that the turn of the weather does funny things to our mood. The darker and cooler mornings, less sunshine and the sense that the year is gathering itself towards the finish line can make everything feel a little heavier.

For me, that has been especially true this year. The past few months have been full of upheaval: never-ending house renovation, multiple personal losses and, most painfully, the passing of my mum, which has meant several trips abroad and a lot of trying to function whilst not feeling quite like myself.

I don’t want to turn my food column into a misery column, but I also know many of us go through seasons where life knocks the rhythm out of us. One of the strange side-effects of my grief has been in my kitchen.

Cooking is usually where I feel most at home; it is where I play, taste, adjust and make sense of things. Yet recently I have caught myself forgetting basic steps or leaving out ingredients I would normally add without thinking. I’ve been cooking plenty from muscle memory, but creativity and fun have felt a bit out of reach.

Autumn

That is where Autumn by Sam Nixon came in at just the right time. Sam, a Yorkshire-based Pop Idol alumnus turned food creator and chef, lives locally in Barnsley, and his debut cookbook has been published by Sheffield-based Meze Publishing. It is a Yorkshire project through and through, which immediately gives it a local warmth. The book also became an instant Sunday Times bestseller, which suggests I am not the only person craving the sort of cooking it offers.

At its heart, Autumn is a collection of comforting, family-friendly recipes that understand the season. Think soups, stews, pies, puddings and the kind of cosy cooking that makes you feel looked after. There are more than 90 autumnal recipes, moving from the golden days of September through Halloween, Bonfire Night and Christmas, including Sam’s much-loved Christmas cake, which he has been making for years alongside his social media followers.

What I appreciate most is that this is not a book trying to impress you into submission. The recipes feel straightforward, generous and achievable. They are the sort of dishes that say, “Come on, we can do this,” rather than, “You need a free afternoon, a specialist pan and emotional resilience”.

Even in a slightly funky season of life, I found myself looking through it and thinking yes, I could make that. More importantly, I wanted to.

That, to me, is the quiet power of a good cookbook. We often think cookbooks are there to inspire the most dazzling version of ourselves: the one who hosts beautifully, plans menus weeks ahead, and never finds a forgotten rotten leek at the bottom of the fridge.

Sometimes the best cookbooks meet us where we are. They give us a route back in. They remove a bit of decision fatigue. They offer a gentle nudge towards the stove when our motivation is not where we want it to be.

As the weather turns, many of us are less inclined to venture out. We want warming food, but we don’t want complicated process. We want comfort without faff; something bubbling, buttery, spiced, golden or rich enough to make the kitchen feel like the best room in the house. Autumn understands that brief beautifully. It makes time in the kitchen feel like a breeze, or at least like less of a climb.

This is not just a book for confident cooks. It is for busy households, tired brains, beginners, comfort seekers and anyone who wants food that tastes like effort without demanding too much of it. The dishes are simple in the best possible way: not plain, not boring, just clear, reassuring and delicious.

I am not pretending or suggesting a cookbook fixes grief, stress or the strange fog that can settle when life has been too much. It does not. But it can be a useful tool for navigating that season. It can help you make one good meal, then another.

It can remind you that feeding yourself and the people around you still matters, even when your spark is flickering. And who knows, maybe – one delicious recipe at a time – this is how the mojo begins to return.

So, if you are feeling the seasonal shift, or if life has made cooking feel more like another chore than a pleasure, Autumn is worth reaching for. It is warm, approachable and rooted in real cooking for real lives. Exactly the kind of book that makes you want to put the kettle on, preheat the oven and believe, gently, that you are getting there.