Light Hearted

Winter and dry fruits go together like summer and mangoes, like chai and cardamom, like snow and mittens. When I was growing up in India, winters were short, but they still packed a chilly punch. On those crisp, foggy mornings, my dad had a simple but heartwarming tradition—he would slip a handful of dry fruits into my pocket before I left for school. Almonds, cashews, and raisins—tiny powerhouses of energy that somehow made the cold feel a little less biting. Maybe it was the warmth of my dad’s love, or maybe it was the dry fruits themselves, but they always did the trick.

The school bus ride was long, and my fingers would fish out a nut or a raisin every few minutes. I’d let them sit in my mouth for a moment before chewing, savoring the natural sweetness of the raisins or the crunch of the almonds. It was my way of stretching out the treat, making the journey just a little more enjoyable. Sometimes, I’d trade a cashew for a classmate’s dried fig—a delicious lesson in playground economics.

Evenings were a different ballgame. As soon as the sun started to set, peanuts and dates made their grand appearance. There was something oddly satisfying about cracking open peanut shells, the crunch echoing in the winter silence. If you’ve ever sat with family on a cold evening, peeling peanuts one by one and munching on them absentmindedly while chatting, you know what I mean. It was more than just a snack—it was a ritual. A cozy, wintry, nutty routine that played out in millions of homes across the country.

Fast forward to today, and here I am in Michigan, where winter is a whole different beast. The cold here is not just a mild inconvenience—it is a full-blown assault that would make even polar bears think twice. But old habits die hard. My pantry is always stocked with dry fruits—almonds, cashews, dates, figs, and pistachios. They have become my mid-morning snack at work, my little energy boost between meetings, my comforting connection to a childhood winter far away.

Of course, different cultures have their own winter superfoods. The Middle East swears by dates and dried figs, often served alongside cardamom-spiced coffee in elegant little dishes. In Iran, Ajil—a mix of nuts, dried fruits, and seeds—is a staple during the winter months and especially during their New Year celebration, Nowruz. Turkish delight stuffed with nuts and

In parts of Europe, walnuts and hazelnuts take center stage—think of Italian panforte or German stollen, dense with nuts and dried fruits. Russians warm up with honey-drizzled nuts and dried berries in their tea. The Chinese celebrate their New Year with elegant lacquered boxes filled with dried kumquats, lotus seeds, and red dates, each carrying symbolic meaning for prosperity and good fortune.

Some folks love sunflower and pumpkin seeds, while others prefer dried apricots and prunes. In Morocco, a handful of almonds might be mixed into a warming tagine, while in Sweden, pearl sugar-dusted cardamom buns often come studded with almond slivers. No matter where you go, the idea remains the same—nature has packed these tiny treats with enough warmth and energy to get us through the coldest months.

And let’s not forget the magic of dry fruits combined with warm milk—a remedy as old as grandmothers’ tales. There’s something about almonds floating in a steaming mug of milk that just screams ‘comfort.’ In India, we soak them overnight and peel them, believing this releases their full nutritional potential. Some add a pinch of saffron or a dash of turmeric, turning a simple drink into liquid gold. The Persians might add a touch of rosewater, while others might sprinkle cinnamon or nutmeg. Some people go for brandy when the temperatures drop, but I say, why not a mug of warm milk with a handful of pistachios and dates? It does the job just as well, minus the headache the next morning.

So, as winter drags on and we bundle up in layers upon layers of clothing, I’ll keep reaching for my stash of dry fruits. They’re more than just snacks—they’re edible time machines, connecting cultures and generations through shared traditions of finding warmth in nature’s candy. And let’s be honest—nothing beats the joy of finding an unexpected cashew in your pocket on a freezing day, a little nugget of sunshine when you need it most.

After all, in a world that sometimes feels cold and disconnected, these humble dry fruits remind us that warmth can come in the smallest packages, and comfort often speaks in the universal language of simple pleasures.