A Cozy Winter Weekend at Home: An Itinerary for Staying In

Some weekends are for going places, and some weekends are for staying exactly where you are. In Dallas, winter tends to show up in short, dramatic bursts, so when the temperature finally drops and the sky turns that soft, flat gray, I want to cancel everything, put on thick socks and treat my own house like a cozy little inn.

If you need permission to do the same, consider this your official invitation. Here’s my itinerary for a slow winter weekend at home, from a Saturday with a record, a stew, a puzzle and a book to church and a long Sunday dinner. It’s mostly free, completely unproductive in the best way, and it might be the most restful two days of your whole season.

Friday night: set the stage

A good staying-in weekend starts with a little prep, so the rest of it can be lazy. On Friday, pick up everything you’ll need for a stew and for Sunday dinner, plus good bread, something for breakfast and the fixings for hot chocolate. Clean the kitchen before bed (future you will be so grateful), set out a fresh candle and pick the book you’re going to read. Then turn off your alarm, because there’s nowhere to be in the morning.

Saturday morning: a record and a slow breakfast

Wake up whenever your body decides to, which is the whole point. Before you even reach for your phone, put a record on (or a long, unhurried playlist, if you don’t have a turntable). Winter mornings call for something warm and a little jazzy, like Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, Sarah Vaughan or Alice Coltrane, and there’s something about a whole album, played front to back, that slows a morning way down.

Make a real breakfast, like pancakes, grits and eggs, or cinnamon toast and bacon, and eat it at the table instead of standing at the counter. Then take your coffee back to the couch and let yourself do absolutely nothing for a while. If the dog wants to climb up and join you, let him.

Late morning: start the stew

Few things make a house feel cozier than a pot of something simmering on the stove all afternoon. A classic beef stew is perfect for this, but a big vegetable stew, a pot of red beans or a gumbo works too. Brown your meat in batches in a heavy pot, add onions, celery, carrots and garlic, deglaze with a little broth or red wine, and then add potatoes, more broth, a bay leaf and thyme. Put the lid on, turn it down low, and let it go for a few hours while the whole house starts to smell like a grandmother’s kitchen.

My own go-to is a pot I used to call minestrone, until I stopped calling it that out of respect for actual minestrone, because this is clearly not it. It's really just a big pot of boiled vegetables, and I don't even have a recipe. I start with vegetable or chicken broth, add every green I can find (kale, collards, mustard greens), then potatoes, always, and corn on the cob, because peeling the husks is so calming. After that it's whatever is in season or in front of me, like bell pepper, snap peas or okra, plus a little salt and red pepper, and that's it.

Saturday afternoon: a puzzle

Clear off the coffee table and open a jigsaw puzzle. Apostrophe Puzzles, a Black-owned, woman-led company that turns the work of artists of color into 500- and 1,000-piece puzzles, is a lovely pick, because you get to spend the whole afternoon with a beautiful painting. Start with the edges, sort the colors into little piles and don’t pressure yourself to finish (the puzzle will still be there tomorrow).

This is also the perfect time to rope in your husband, your kids, your sister or your best friend. There’s something about working on a puzzle side by side that makes people talk, and you’ll be surprised by the conversations that happen when everybody’s eyes are on the pieces instead of each other.

Rest isn’t a reward you earn at the end of the week. It’s a gift you’re allowed to open.

Saturday evening: stew, bread and a book

When the light starts to fade, turn off the overhead lights, turn on the lamps and light a candle. Ladle the stew into big bowls, tear the bread instead of slicing it and eat somewhere comfortable, even on the couch if you want to (no one is grading your table manners this weekend).

After dinner, run a hot bath or curl up in your favorite reading spot with a blanket and the book you chose on Friday. A long, absorbing novel is perfect here, like Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon, Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God or Brit Bennett’s The Vanishing Half, the kind of book that makes you forget to check the time. Read until your eyes get heavy, and then go to bed early without feeling a bit guilty about it.

Sunday morning: church

Sunday starts a little earlier, but it’s still slow. Lay out your clothes on Saturday night, so there’s no rushing in the morning, and give yourself time for coffee and a little quiet before you leave. There’s something special about walking into church on a cold morning, with the warmth of the sanctuary, the choir and the people you love saying good morning. Let the sermon and the songs settle into you, and if someone invites you to lunch afterward, tell them you already have plans: Sunday dinner.

Sunday afternoon: Sunday dinner

Sunday dinner is a tradition worth protecting, whether it’s two of you or twenty. Keep the menu comforting and familiar, like a roast chicken or smothered pork chops, collard greens, macaroni and cheese, cornbread and a cobbler or a pound cake for dessert. Invite your parents, your neighbors or the friend who’s been having a hard month, and let the meal take as long as it wants to take. Afterward, put another record on, wrap the leftovers and maybe get the cards out for a round of spades.

Sunday evening: an easy reset

Before the weekend ends, do a gentle reset so Monday doesn’t feel like a cliff. Load the dishwasher, wipe down the counters, put the puzzle somewhere safe if it isn’t finished and lay out what you’ll need for the morning. Then sit down for a few minutes with a cup of tea and write down three good things from the weekend. You’ll be amazed by how much life fits into two quiet days.

A cozy weekend at home isn’t really about doing less. It’s about doing the things that make you feel like yourself, slowly and on purpose, with the people (and the dog) you love most. I hope you give yourself one this winter, and I hope it feels like coming home.

So tell me, delighters, what’s the one thing that has to be part of your perfect stay-at-home weekend: the record, the stew, the puzzle or the book?