The Humble Herb That Changed My Winter Cooking

 


By Chef Peesh Chopra | Toronto | Peesh Kitchen

The scent that stopped me

I was prepping dinner for a private event last week in Toronto — a cozy home near the Distillery District, the kind with creaky wooden floors and that faint smell of red wine and old books.
My plan was straightforward: roasted chicken, garlic mash, and winter vegetables.

Then I opened a small bunch of fresh thyme.

The scent hit me — citrusy, woody, quietly powerful. For a second, I just stood there, breathing it in.
It reminded me that sometimes the smallest ingredient decides the entire mood of a meal.

The quiet confidence of thyme

Thyme doesn’t shout like basil or mint. It’s not as dramatic as rosemary.
It’s subtle, dependable, and grounding — like the friend who listens more than they speak.

When I added it to the butter, the aroma wrapped the kitchen in calm. The chicken turned golden, the potatoes absorbed a whisper of earthiness, and suddenly the dish felt like a story, not a recipe.

I realized then: cooking isn’t about adding more — it’s about paying attention to what’s already there.

Why it matters in winter

Toronto winters have a rhythm — quiet streets, long evenings, meals that warm more than the body.
In this season, thyme becomes my reminder to slow down.
It asks me to notice the slow simmer of broth, the gentle steam on a window, the sound of a spoon stirring something fragrant and patient.

Cooking with thyme teaches restraint. And in that restraint, there’s grace.

From ingredient to ritual

When I bring thyme into Peesh Kitchen, I treat it like a ritual:

  • Rub it gently to wake its oils.
  • Drop it in butter at the exact moment it starts to foam.
  • Let it rest in the pan even after heat is off — to perfume, not overpower.

It’s not just seasoning; it’s intention.

A note to home cooks

Next time you cook — whether it’s soup, roast, or even eggs — pick one herb and give it your full attention.
Smell it, touch it, listen to how it reacts in the pan.
You’ll discover how cooking becomes meditation when you stop rushing through it.

Because food, like people, reveals its best side when given time and warmth.

Final reflection

Thyme, for me, has become a teacher — of patience, quiet confidence, and simplicity.
It doesn’t demand to be noticed; it rewards you when you do.

So this winter, I’m choosing less flash and more soul in my kitchen.
A little thyme. A lot of heart.

Originally published at https://medium.com/@chefpeeshchopra on November 13, 2025.

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