It's so nice to have a pork roast in the oven for an hour-and-a-half, scenting the house with the lovely smells of garlic and pepper and a little thyme, with a pool of cider with apples and onions bubbling beneath. There were two of the little roly-poly roasts, much the size of Cornish Hens, and they cooked to a perfect 180, fork-tender and delicious beneath the reduced pan juices and flavorful apples.
Sides of Braised Cabbage with a little garlic and soy, some from-a-box Red Beans and Rice, a square of dense, cheesy Cornbread, and a dab from a lovely jar of Cranberry Chutney---perfect on a cool night.
And the scents of the afternoon, with that porky succulence filling the air---just having an oven-dish in progress, whether roast or chicken or casserole, says that you're coping; you're on top of things, and can go on with chores or relaxing alike, content in the outcome: A good hot dinner with little effort and a lot of preliminary enjoyment just of the moment, as well.
Something in the oven---one of the best features of a cold day.