AS days grow shorter and nights feel longer, I begin to crave slow cooked comfort. I never grew up with the feeling of what early darkness bought with it, a sense a loss and a sort of parody of a day. When I moved to Scotland, I began to understand why people suffer from seasonal discomfort. For me, the one way of coping with upsets in my life is to head to the kitchen, finding comfort in the sensory process of cooking. It allows me to disconnect from the realities around me. It offers me a sense of a warm embrace from a loved one, even if I am stood alone in the kitchen.

It is the nostalgia of childhood scents, sounds or the excitement of the final dish that enriches the moment. The very essence of why I cook when I am feeling a little low is that the elation it carries surpasses any negativity around me, whether it is because of emotion or circumstance.

Recently, I have challenged myself with cooking differently. I found that being such a niche writer and cook, I often find myself stuck in my ways of combining ingredients and memories. Much of my cooking is led by reminiscence, but I have found that delving into the past isn’t always most helpful when it comes to discovering new ways of expressing flavour. I have decided that when I am stuck in a time when I need new light and direction, I need to shake up the ways I cook.

The first thing that hit me when I moved up to Scotland was that many of the stereotypical jokes about Scottish cuisine are misplaced. For someone who is drawn to food, I could hear above the noise and see a country that was blessed with an abundant natural larder that was naturally driven by season. This can be easily overlooked in a world of plastic-packaged pseudo-seasonality, as so many of us are guilty of picking convenience over wholesome comfort. I always try to resist, not because I am better than others, but because to me, eating well, but inexpensively, relates to where and how I was bought up.

So recently, I decided, it is time to take a step away from my usual spices and cook with other flavours that enhance the experience of living in a new home, a new country and celebrating memories yet to be made.

Growing up in southern Pakistan, winters were mild. I almost envy my past, as I recollect how most evenings you could barbecue, feeling the moist sea-breeze on your shoulders, through a light pashmina shawl. Alas, since in Scotland, any prospect of firing up the coals has been packed away for another six months, slow, long roasting or braising in the oven is a consoling alternative. Although many Pakistani recipes demand a slow cook, when was growing up, I never thought of slow cooking as a comforting option. I found it a hindrance to feeding my hunger. Today, however, I rejoice in the time when I can seek refuge from the cold in my kitchen with the warm glow from my oven.

So this week, I have opted to pick a cheap cut of beef, with masses of Scottish Highland flavour lent by berries that grow on the mountains, which I collected earlier in the year, and lemon, a seasoning that medieval kitchens in Scotland used before salt was used. I picked some autumnal herbs for a warm garnish, and popped everything into my trusted casserole and allowed my oven to present me with a dish filled with respite from the cold, but most of all, one filled with the promise of new memories.

Sumayya’s slow-cooked beef ribs with juniper, lemon and wood sorrel

2 meaty beef ribs

Salt and pepper

1 tbsp butter

3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

3 juniper berries

1 spring of thyme

1 bay leaf

1 clove garlic, skin removed

3 shallots, skins removed and halved

1 inch of the end of a lemon, with skin and a little flesh

A glug of dark ale, or vintage cider (optional)

A handful of wood sorrel, stirred through for a warm garnish (optional, can be substituted by finely chopped parsley or coriander leaves)

1. Heat the oven to 160C. Rub the beef ribs sparingly with salt and pepper.

2. Heat a medium heavy-based pan. When hot, add butter and oil together and allow to melt. Add the juniper, thyme, bay leaf, garlic, shallots and lemon in the pan and stir. Allow to fragrance the oil/butter for about 1 minute but do not let the garlic or herbs burn, keeping the heat medium.

3. Add the seasoned beef ribs and seal on all sides. Top with a big glug of dark ale or vintage cider if using. Bring to a boil and cook for a minute or two. Top with water (submerge half the ribs, do this now if not using ale/cider).

4. Cover, pop into oven and cook for about 2½-3 hours. In the last 40 minutes, take lid off and let juices reduce to half. Keep checking on the pan during cooking to ensure liquid hasn’t totally dried up. If it does, top up to keep ribs ¾ submerged. You should be left with meat pulling easily off the bone, a thick liquid and softened shallots and garlic.

5. Stir through the wood sorrel if using, or other herbs of choice. Enjoyed best with some crushed baby potatoes with masses of butter and salt. Leftovers of the beef ribs are even tastier.