There used to be a point and time in my life when I used to specifically put aside time on a Sunday morning to nurse a hangover. The lack of productivity then bled into my evenings and before I knew it I would be aggressively shoving an apple, a Redbull and a packet of chips into my work bag for my Monday “lunch”. That was my version of a ‘slow Sunday’.

Nowadays, however, it has started to look slightly different. My mornings consist of waking up at an ungodly hour because of my personal alarm clock and I enjoy the slowness of making a warm brew. I then open the windows in the living room and spend a few solid minutes listening to the birds and basking in the sun. Like a cat.

The sound of the birds and nature makes me feel like I’m in one of those 90s Disney movies where everything is right in the world. On a good day, I avoid scrolling on social media apps, but on a lazy morning, I succumb to a few minutes of scroll time. Once that itch has been scratched, I make my way to the couch and crack open the book I’m reading to compliment the coffee in my hand. As part of my new routine I like to make a hearty lunch.  

After the espresso has hit, I take my time preparing a Sunday sauce to go with the pasta of our choice. And I thoroughly enjoy the process. Everything from the freshness of the herbs to the tomatoes cooking over a slow fire puts my mind at ease. As the aroma sweeps our humble but cozy apartment I often find myself taking a step back to appreciate the big little moments. 

Twenty-year-old me would’ve despised mornings like these. But almost a decade later I can safely say that these pockets of peace are now my definition of a rich lifestyle. It might not be everyone’s cup of tea. But having grown up in an environment where I was constantly surrounded by chaos, the slowness that comes with these Sundays has started to heal my inner child. 

As a South-Asian woman, I’d seen too many ladies around me spend hours in the kitchen while their husbands were talking politics and sports in the living rooms. It was a norm. A norm that I despised and vowed to never be a part of. 

But finding a husband who is also my best friend with a dog that is a stage five clinger has slowly helped me heal my relationship with food. Over time, I realised that cooking for someone that you care for can be healing. 

And whilst I may not be the runner up for the next MasterChef. I can truly say that these slow Sunday mornings are the moments that I cherish the most.