Top 10 'Slow-Simmer' Kitchen Rituals to adopt for relaxation during a quiet weekend at home - Goh Ling Yong
In a world that seems to spin faster every day, the call to slow down has never been more urgent. We chase deadlines, juggle responsibilities, and navigate a constant stream of digital noise. The result? A collective feeling of being perpetually frazzled. But what if the antidote to this modern-day burnout isn't a weekend getaway or a complex new hobby, but something much closer to home? What if it’s waiting for you in the heart of your house—the kitchen?
For many, the kitchen is a place of frantic weekday meal prep and hurried breakfasts. It's a functional space, a means to an end. But I invite you to see it differently. Imagine your kitchen as a sanctuary, a place for deliberate, mindful practice. This is the essence of the 'slow-simmer' philosophy: embracing cooking not as a chore, but as a meditative ritual. It’s about finding joy in processes that can’t be rushed, allowing the gentle rhythms of chopping, stirring, and waiting to soothe your mind and nourish your soul.
This weekend, I encourage you to close the laptop, put your phone on silent, and reclaim your kitchen as a haven of tranquility. These ten slow-simmer rituals are designed to do just that. They are less about the final product (though that’s usually delicious) and more about the restorative journey of creation. They are your permission slip to take your time, engage your senses, and find profound relaxation in the simple, transformative power of food.
1. The Art of the All-Day Bone Broth
There is perhaps no ritual more fundamental to the slow-simmer ethos than making a proper bone broth or stock. It is the ultimate act of culinary patience. The process begins with humble ingredients—roasted bones, vegetable scraps, a few herbs—and through the magic of low heat and time, transforms them into a golden, nutrient-dense elixir. The house fills with a deeply savory, comforting aroma that feels like a warm hug from the inside out.
This isn’t about frantically boiling a pot. It's about a gentle, barely-there simmer that can last anywhere from six to twenty-four hours. You’ll find a quiet rhythm in skimming the surface, checking the water level, and simply letting it be. The low-and-slow heat coaxes out collagen, minerals, and flavor, creating a liquid foundation that will elevate every soup, stew, and sauce you make for weeks to come. It’s a beautiful lesson in how the best things in life often require us to simply wait.
Pro Tip: Don't throw away your vegetable scraps! Keep a bag in the freezer for onion skins, carrot peels, celery ends, and parsley stems. When you’re ready to make broth, you have a free, flavor-packed base. For an extra-rich and clear broth, blanch the bones in boiling water for 10-15 minutes first, then rinse them before roasting.
2. The Meditative Practice of Sourdough
Baking sourdough isn’t just about making bread; it’s about cultivating a relationship. Your starter is a living thing, a bubbly companion that requires feeding, attention, and an understanding of its unique rhythm. The entire process, from reviving your starter to the final bake, is a multi-day ritual that forces you to slow down and pay attention to subtle cues—the smell, the texture, the rise.
The tactile sensation of working the dough is profoundly grounding. The rhythmic push and pull of kneading, the gentle stretching and folding, the shaping of the loaf—these are all moments of pure, focused presence. You’re not just following a recipe; you’re responding to the dough in your hands. And the final reward? The crackle of a perfect crust, the steamy, tangy aroma of a freshly baked loaf, and the deep satisfaction of having created something so wholesome from just flour, water, and salt.
Pro Tip: Don't be intimidated! Start with a simple, "no-knead" sourdough recipe that relies on time and folding rather than intensive kneading. It’s a fantastic way to understand the fermentation process without feeling overwhelmed. Keep a "baker's journal" to note how your starter behaves in different temperatures and after different feeding times.
3. Crafting a Slow-Cooked Ragu or Stew
A truly great ragu or stew cannot be rushed. It’s a symphony of flavors that needs hours to meld and deepen. This ritual is about the methodical layering of ingredients. It starts with the sizzle of onions, carrots, and celery—the soffritto—softening in olive oil. Then comes the browning of the meat or mushrooms, creating the foundational fond at the bottom of the pot. Finally, the splash of wine, the addition of tomatoes and herbs, and the long, slow simmer.
As the pot bubbles gently on the stove for hours, your kitchen transforms. The air becomes thick with the rich, complex scent of a meal that is slowly reaching its peak. This is the perfect Sunday afternoon activity. You can putter around the house, read a book, and return to the stove occasionally to give it a stir, checking on its progress. It’s a low-effort, high-reward process that culminates in a meal that tastes of time, care, and attention.
Pro Tip: For an incredibly tender meat sauce like a classic Bolognese, add a splash of milk or cream after the wine has cooked off and before you add the tomatoes. The dairy helps to tenderize the meat during the long simmer, resulting in a velvety texture.
4. Infusing Oils, Vinegars, and Honeys
This is one of the most elegant and simple slow-simmer rituals. Infusing oils or vinegars is an act of capturing the essence of an ingredient—the bright zest of a lemon, the pungent kick of garlic, the woody aroma of rosemary. While some infusions can be made with gentle heat, the most rewarding are often the slow, cold infusions that let time do all the work.
The process is a meditation in itself. Carefully washing and drying fresh herbs, peeling long strips of citrus rind, or crushing whole spices. You place your chosen aromatics in a clean jar, cover them with high-quality oil or vinegar, and then… you wait. For days or even weeks, you can watch as the liquid slowly takes on the color and character of the ingredients within. It’s a beautiful, visual reminder of the slow magic of flavor extraction.
Pro Tip: Create a "chili honey" by gently warming honey with a few dried red chiles and a strip of orange peel, then letting it infuse for a week. It’s an incredible topping for pizza, cheese boards, or roasted vegetables. For oils, always use dried herbs and garlic to prevent the risk of botulism.
5. The Sweet Surrender of Making Jam
Preserving fruit is a timeless ritual that connects us to the seasons. Making jam, jelly, or preserves is a sweet, sticky, and utterly satisfying process. It begins with the beautiful, tactile work of preparing the fruit—hulling strawberries, pitting cherries, or peeling peaches. This repetitive, focused task is a wonderful way to quiet a busy mind.
Then comes the cooking, a slow bubbling of fruit and sugar that thickens into a glossy, jewel-toned preserve. The air fills with a fragrant, sugary steam that is the very essence of summer or autumn. The final steps—sterilizing jars and carefully ladling in the hot jam—require a steady hand and full attention, pulling you completely into the present moment. Opening a jar of homemade jam in the dead of winter is like unlocking a little pot of sunshine.
Pro Tip: You don't need to use pectin for every fruit. Fruits high in natural pectin, like apples, citrus, and cranberries, will set beautifully on their own. For a softer-set jam with a purer fruit flavor, try reducing the sugar slightly and cooking it a little longer.
6. The Patient Process of Dehydration
Using a dehydrator (or a very low oven) is the ultimate "set it and forget it" slow ritual. It's an exercise in delayed gratification. The preparation is simple and mindful: slicing fruits into uniform rounds, laying out herbs on trays, or pureeing vegetables for fruit leathers. The real work is done by the gentle, circulating air over many, many hours.
Dehydrating is an act of preservation and flavor concentration. A simple tomato becomes a chewy, intensely savory sun-dried tomato. A fresh strawberry transforms into a crisp, sweet chip. There is no instant result here. You set up the machine in the morning and by evening, or even the next day, you are rewarded with shelf-stable snacks and ingredients. As my friend and fellow slow-living advocate, Goh Ling Yong, often says, "The quiet hum of a dehydrator is the sound of patience at work."
Pro Tip: Make your own "umami powder" by dehydrating sliced mushrooms (shiitake or cremini are great) until they are cracker-dry, then grinding them into a fine powder in a spice grinder. A sprinkle of this adds a deep, savory flavor to almost any dish.
7. Cultivating the Living World of Ferments
Diving into fermentation is like becoming a partner with biology. Making your own sauerkraut, kimchi, or kombucha connects you to ancient food traditions that are both fascinating and incredibly beneficial for your health. The process is alive, and it asks you to observe and interact with it.
The ritual starts with the vigorous work of massaging salt into cabbage for sauerkraut or blending a fiery paste for kimchi. Then, you pack it all into a jar and let nature’s invisible helpers—the beneficial bacteria—take over. Over the next few days and weeks, you’ll "burp" the jar, watch it bubble, and taste it periodically as the flavor develops from sharp and salty to complex and tangy. It’s a slow-motion science experiment happening right on your countertop.
Pro Tip: When making sauerkraut for the first time, use a kitchen scale to ensure you have the right ratio of salt to cabbage (a 2% salt concentration is standard). This is the single most important factor for a successful and safe ferment.
8. The Grounding Touch of Hand-Made Pasta
In an age of instant everything, making pasta from scratch feels like a small act of rebellion. It’s a profoundly tactile and grounding experience that connects you directly to your food. It begins with a simple mound of flour, making a well in the center, and cracking in the eggs. The feeling of mixing the wet and dry ingredients with your fingertips is pure sensory feedback.
The real meditation comes with kneading. For ten solid minutes, you work the dough—pushing, folding, and turning—until it transforms from a shaggy mess into a smooth, elastic, and almost living ball. After a mandatory rest, the process of rolling it out, whether by hand with a long rolling pin or through a pasta maker, requires focus and a gentle touch. This ritual isn’t about speed; it’s about feeling the dough and honoring the process.
Pro Tip: Don't flour your work surface too much when kneading; a slightly tacky dough will tell you when it's ready. Let the finished dough rest, wrapped, for at least 30 minutes. This allows the gluten to relax, making it much easier to roll out.
9. Concocting Homemade Liqueurs and Syrups
This weekend project is an exercise in patience that rewards you with something truly special to sip and share. Crafting your own liqueurs like limoncello or coffee liqueur, or even simple syrups for cocktails and sodas, is a slow and satisfying process. It’s less about active cooking and more about careful preparation and long, quiet infusion.
The ritual might involve meticulously peeling the zest from a dozen lemons, ensuring no white pith comes along. Or it could be coarsely grinding fragrant coffee beans to steep in vodka. Once the ingredients are combined in a large glass jar, the project is handed over to time. You’ll give the jar a gentle shake every day or so, watching as the spirit or syrup takes on the deep color and aroma of its contents.
Pro Tip: Create a versatile ginger-turmeric syrup. Simmer sliced ginger and turmeric with sugar and water for about 30 minutes, then let it steep for another hour off the heat before straining. It's fantastic for making homemade ginger ale, adding to tea, or mixing into cocktails.
10. The Old-World Ritual of Rendering Fat
Rendering lard (from pork fat) or tallow (from beef fat) is a deeply traditional and resourceful kitchen ritual that has been largely forgotten. It is the slow, magical process of taking a raw, humble ingredient and transforming it into a pure, stable, and incredibly flavorful cooking medium. It’s the ultimate "nose-to-tail" practice and an act of profound culinary alchemy.
The process requires the lowest possible heat and a heavy-bottomed pot. You slowly, gently melt the chopped fat over several hours. The only sound is a soft, steady sizzle. As the liquid fat separates, you are left with crispy, delicious cracklings (a cook's treat!) and a jar of snow-white, pure cooking fat. There is something deeply satisfying about this slow transformation, connecting you to a more resourceful way of cooking. I find it to be one of the most calming kitchen tasks, a sentiment shared by Goh Ling Yong, who appreciates these foundational cooking techniques.
Pro Tip: Ask your local butcher for high-quality leaf fat (from around the kidneys), as it produces the purest, most neutral-flavored lard, which is perfect for baking flaky pastries and pie crusts.
Choosing to engage in a slow-simmer ritual is about more than just cooking; it’s about intentionally carving out time for yourself. It’s a declaration that you are worthy of a quiet moment, of a nourishing process, and of the simple joy that comes from creating something with your own two hands. The goal isn’t a perfect loaf of bread or the clearest broth—it's the calm you cultivate along the way.
So this weekend, pick one. Just one. Put on some music, pour yourself a drink, and allow yourself to get lost in the gentle, restorative rhythm of the kitchen. You might just find that the most delicious thing you make is a renewed sense of peace.
What's your favorite way to unwind in the kitchen? Share your go-to slow-simmer ritual in the comments below
About the Author
Goh Ling Yong is a content creator and digital strategist sharing insights across various topics. Connect and follow for more content:
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