I put together this calendar after my first full year cooking in our London flat. I’d come from Toronto, where seasons are dramatic and unmistakable, and I thought I understood how to cook with the rhythm of the year. Then I stood in a British supermarket in February, staring at asparagus from Peru, and realised I needed to learn the actual seasons here from scratch. This page is the result of that learning — it’s what I use to plan my own weekly shops, and I update it as I discover more about what grows well across the UK and when.
It’s not meant to be a rigid rulebook. If you want tomatoes in January, I’m not going to stop you. But I’ve found that cooking with what’s naturally in season here makes meals cheaper, tastier, and more varied over the course of a year. It’s also a small, quiet way to feel connected to what’s happening outside the kitchen window, which I’ve come to appreciate more than I expected.
I’ve organised the guide by season rather than month, because British weather doesn’t respect precise calendar boundaries. A warm March might bring early rhubarb, while a cold April keeps the asparagus waiting. Use your judgement, chat with the people at your local greengrocer or farmers’ market stall, and let your eyes tell you what looks good. The produce that’s genuinely in season tends to be the stuff that’s abundant, reasonably priced, and actually smells like something.
A quick note on sourcing: supermarkets vary enormously. Some do a decent job of stocking British seasonal produce and labelling it clearly. Others bury it among imported alternatives that look identical but taste of very little. If you have access to a market, a farm shop, or even a veg box scheme like Riverford or Oddbox, you’ll find it much easier to eat seasonally without having to scrutinise every label. That said, I do most of my shopping at a mid-range supermarket because that’s real life, and I’ve included tips below for making seasonal choices in that context.
Spring — March, April, May
Spring in the UK starts cautiously and then suddenly accelerates. March can still feel like winter in the vegetable aisle, but by late April there’s genuine abundance. This is the season I look forward to most after months of roots and brassicas, and it rewards a bit of patience.
What’s at its best:
- Rhubarb — forced rhubarb from Yorkshire appears as early as January in some shops, with its delicate pink stalks and less aggressive tartness. Outdoor rhubarb follows from April, thicker and greener, with a stronger flavour that stands up beautifully to custard or folded through a crumble with ginger.
- Spring cabbage and spring greens — the first fresh, leafy greens after the winter gap. They’re tender enough to wilt briefly in a pan with butter and a little garlic, and they taste sweet and grassy rather than earthy. I use them as a side for almost everything in April and May.
- Asparagus — the British asparagus season is famously short, typically late April through June. Look for bundles labelled as British, with tight tips and firm stems. The flavour is so much sweeter and more complex than imported asparagus that it’s worth eating it almost daily while it lasts. Roasted, steamed, shaved raw into salads — I don’t think I’ve ever met a preparation I didn’t like.
- Wild garlic — if you’re near woodland, you might find this foraging favourite from March through May. Even if you don’t forage, some farm shops and markets sell it. The leaves make an extraordinary pesto blended with oil, nuts, and hard cheese, and the flavour is gentler than bulb garlic.
- New potatoes — Jersey Royals arrive in late spring, and they’re genuinely worth seeking out. Boiled and tossed with butter, salt, and fresh mint, they need nothing else.
- Radishes — British radishes appear in spring with crisp, peppery bite. Sliced thinly onto buttered bread with flaky salt, they make a snack that feels far more luxurious than the sum of its parts.
- Watercress and lamb’s lettuce — delicate salad leaves that thrive in the cool, damp British spring. Watercress soup is a classic for good reason, and lamb’s lettuce holds up well with a sharp vinaigrette.
What I cook in spring: The first warmish evening that coincides with British asparagus appearing in the shop, I make a simple risotto with the spears laid on top, finished with lemon zest and parmesan. Rhubarb gets roasted with orange juice and spooned over yogurt for breakfast. Spring greens become the base of a quick supper with a fried egg and whatever cheese needs using up. These aren’t ambitious meals — they’re the kind of cooking that takes fifteen minutes and feels like a genuine reward after a day at work.
Summer — June, July, August
British summer produce is genuinely glorious, and the window for much of it is narrower than you’d think. Strawberries are at their peak for maybe three or four weeks, not the entire three months supermarkets would have you believe. The key is to eat enthusiastically while things are abundant, and to preserve or freeze what you can’t get through.
What’s at its best:
- Strawberries — British strawberries in June and early July are a different fruit from the imported ones we eat the rest of the year. They’re smaller, darker red, and intensely fragrant. I eat them with cream, in a basic sponge cake, or just standing at the kitchen counter. Later in the summer, the season shifts to larger varieties that are still good but less extraordinary.
- Raspberries, currants, and gooseberries — soft fruits that don’t travel well, which is why the imported versions are so expensive and disappointing. British raspberries in July are one of the great pleasures of eating seasonally, and redcurrants cooked down with sugar make a sauce that cuts through rich meats beautifully. Gooseberries need cooking and a generous hand with sugar, but a gooseberry fool or crumble is proper summer comfort.
- Cherries — the British cherry season is brief, typically July, and the fruit is softer and more delicate than imported cherries. I buy them from market stalls where I can taste before buying, and I don’t bother cooking with them because raw is so good.
- Peas and broad beans — fresh British peas are a revelation if you’ve only ever had frozen. They’re sweet and pop in your mouth, and podding them is a meditative ten-minute activity. Broad beans need double podding if they’re large — remove the grey outer skin after blanching to reveal the bright green bean inside. Both are wonderful with nothing more than butter, salt, and mint.
- Courgettes — British courgettes flood the shops from mid-summer, and anyone with an allotment will try to give you a carrier bag full. They’re versatile, mild, and absorbent, making them excellent vehicles for stronger flavours. Grated into fritters with feta and dill, layered into a simple gratin, or fried quickly with garlic and chilli.
- Tomatoes — British tomatoes, grown in polytunnels or outdoors in a good summer, have a flavour that supermarket imports rarely achieve. They’re available from late July through September, and they’re best eaten raw with good olive oil and salt, or cooked down slowly into a simple sauce.
- Runner beans — a very British vegetable that appears in late summer. They need stringing and slicing, and they’re best cooked briefly so they retain some bite. My grandmother-in-law serves them with butter and black pepper alongside a roast, and I’ve adopted the habit.
- Cucumbers — British cucumbers in summer are crisp, refreshing, and actually taste of something. Sliced into a quick pickle with rice vinegar, sugar, and salt, they keep in the fridge for a week and improve almost any sandwich or salad.
What I cook in summer: Summer cooking at our place is mostly assembly rather than cooking. A platter of sliced tomatoes with mozzarella or burrata, basil from the windowsill, and the best olive oil I can justify buying. Peas and broad beans tossed through pasta with ricotta and lemon. Strawberries and cream, repeatedly, until everyone in the house has had enough and then one more time for luck. I also make a batch of simple berry jam or compote in July to freeze, which means we eat a little bit of summer on porridge in January.
Autumn — September, October, November
Autumn is the season that first made me fall in love with cooking in the UK. There’s a generosity to British autumn produce — orchard fruits, squashes, fungi, and the first of the hardy greens. The light changes, the kitchen feels inviting again after summer’s heat, and I find myself genuinely wanting to cook properly rather than just assemble.
What’s at its best:
- Apples and pears — British apples are world-class, and the variety available from September onwards is astonishing. Cox’s Orange Pippin for eating raw, Bramley for cooking down into sauce or crumble, and countless others that appear at farm shops and markets. I buy mixed bags and work through them over a fortnight. Pears need careful timing — they go from rock-hard to overripe in what feels like a matter of hours — but a perfectly ripe British Conference pear is honeyed and floral in a way imported pears rarely are.
- Plums and damsons — Victoria plums in late summer and early autumn are sweet and juicy for eating fresh. Damsons are smaller, tarter, and better for cooking — they make a deep purple jam or a fantastic crumble paired with apple. The season isn’t long, so I freeze damsons for later use.
- Blackberries — September blackberries from hedgerows are free, abundant, and far better than anything in a plastic punnet. Even if you’re not a forager by nature, taking a container on a weekend walk and coming home with purple-stained fingers is one of the simplest pleasures of autumn in Britain. Cooked with apple into a crumble or baked into a simple cake, they’re a seasonal ritual I’ve come to love.
- Squashes and pumpkins — British-grown squashes appear from September and store well into winter. Crown Prince has dense, sweet, grey-blue flesh that roasts beautifully. Butternut squash is widely available and reliably good. I roast trays of squash chunks on a Sunday and use them through the week in salads, risottos, and soups.
- Beetroot — earthy, sweet, and available in colours from deep purple to golden yellow. Roasted whole in foil until tender, then peeled and sliced, it keeps in the fridge for days and transforms a salad. The leaves are edible too, cooked like chard.
- Mushrooms — wild mushrooms appear in markets and some supermarkets in autumn, and cultivated British mushrooms improve noticeably as the weather cools. Chestnut mushrooms have more flavour than standard white ones. If you can find chanterelles or ceps, a simple pasta with butter and parsley is the best way to let them shine.
- Kale and cavolo nero — these hardy greens improve after a frost, becoming sweeter and more tender. Strip the leaves from the stems, massage with oil and salt if eating raw, or cook briefly in a hot pan. Cavolo nero in particular has a deep, almost meaty flavour that stands up to beans, sausages, and chillies.
What I cook in autumn: Roasted squash soup with sage and a drizzle of cream. Apple and blackberry crumble, which I’d argue is the definitive British pudding and needs no embellishment beyond custard. Beetroot roasted and layered with goat’s cheese and walnuts for a lunch that looks far more effortful than it is. Mushroom pasta with a glass of red wine while it rains outside. These are the meals that make me genuinely glad to be cooking in a small London kitchen with the windows steaming up.
Winter — December, January, February
British winter produce is unfairly maligned. It’s true that the variety narrows and the colours shift to beige and deep green, but there’s real pleasure in the roots, brassicas, and stored fruits that carry us through the coldest months. This is the season for slow cooking, for the oven warming the kitchen, and for the kind of meals that feel like a defence against the dark and the damp.
What’s at its best:
- Parsnips, carrots, and swede — British root vegetables develop sweetness in cold weather. Parsnips roasted with honey and mustard are almost confectionary. Carrots are available year-round but winter carrots, especially the larger, gnarlier ones from farm shops, have far more flavour. Swede is underappreciated — mashed with butter and plenty of pepper, it’s a worthy alternative to potato, and diced into pasties or stews it adds body and sweetness.
- Brussels sprouts — British sprouts on the stalk appear from November through February. The key, which I learned embarrassingly late, is not to overcook them. Halved and fried cut-side down in butter until caramelised, then finished with a splash of water to steam through, they’re nutty and sweet. Shredded raw into a slaw with apple and mustard dressing, they’re completely different again.
- Leeks — British leeks are at their best in winter, and they’re one of the vegetables I reach for most often between December and March. Washed carefully to remove grit, then softened in butter as the base for soups, pies, and pasta sauces. A leek and potato soup with good stock is one of the most comforting bowls of food I know.
- Celeriac — ugly and overlooked, but with a subtle celery flavour that makes exceptional soup and mash. I use it half-and-half with potato for a mash that’s lighter and more interesting, or shave it thinly into a remoulade with mustard and mayonnaise.
- Cauliflower and Romanesco — British cauliflower in winter is tight, white, and sweet. Roasted whole or in thick slices until deeply browned, it transforms into something almost meaty. Romanesco, with its fractal green spirals, is too beautiful to hide in a sauce — roast it simply and serve with lemon.
- Purple sprouting broccoli — this appears in late winter, typically February, and signals that spring is on its way. The slender purple stalks and green leaves are tender and sweet. Steam or boil briefly, then dress with olive oil, lemon, and anchovy if you like that sort of thing.
- Stored apples and pears — properly stored British apples keep through much of winter. They lose some crispness but gain in intensity. Baked apples with brown sugar and cinnamon in the oven while you eat dinner, served with cream or custard, are a winter pudding that costs almost nothing and makes the kitchen smell extraordinary.
- Forced rhubarb — by late January, the first forced rhubarb from the Yorkshire Triangle appears, grown in dark sheds and harvested by candlelight. It’s expensive compared to outdoor rhubarb in spring, but its tenderness and vivid pink colour make it a welcome bright spot in the depths of winter.
What I cook in winter: A proper root vegetable stew with pearl barley and whatever herbs I have, simmered low while I get on with other things. Cauliflower cheese, which I’ll defend as a complete meal if served with bread and a sharp salad. Leek and potato soup in quantity, because it reheats beautifully for lunches. Brussels sprouts fried with bacon and chestnuts, which even the sprout-sceptics in our house will eat. And baked apples, often and without ceremony, because winter evenings need small comforts.
A few things I’ve learned about eating seasonally in the UK
Supermarket labels are your friend, but they’re not always honest. Look for the red tractor logo or explicit “British” labelling. But also use common sense — if strawberries are cheap, abundant, and fragrant in June, they’re almost certainly British. If they’re pale, enormous, and uniformly shaped in December, they’ve travelled further than you have this year.
Farmers’ markets and farm shops vary enormously by region. In London, we’re fortunate to have good markets, but prices can be high. In more rural areas, farm shops often offer excellent produce at prices comparable to or cheaper than supermarkets. Wherever you are, building a relationship with a stallholder or shopkeeper means you’ll get honest advice about what’s genuinely good right now.
Veg box schemes take the thinking out of seasonality. If you struggle to identify what’s in season or find yourself defaulting to the same vegetables out of habit, a weekly or fortnightly box forces variety. The downside is you sometimes end up with yet another cabbage when you haven’t finished the last one, but that’s a reasonable price for learning what grows when.
Frozen is not the enemy. British frozen peas, broad beans, and berries are frozen at peak ripeness and are often better than fresh imported versions out of season. I keep peas and broad beans in the freezer year-round as a backup, and frozen berries become compotes and crumbles when fresh ones are expensive and disappointing.
Preserving extends the seasons without much effort. I’m not a serious preserver — I don’t have a larder full of kilner jars or a detailed canning system. But I freeze berries, roast and freeze tomato sauce, make quick pickles from summer cucumbers, and stew apples for the freezer. These small acts of preservation mean we eat seasonally even when the season itself has passed.
The seasons shift, and so should this calendar. I update this page regularly based on what I’m actually seeing in shops and markets. Climate change, growing conditions, and supply chains all affect what’s available and when. If you notice something that seems wrong or outdated, I’d genuinely appreciate hearing about it so I can keep this useful for everyone.
Seasonal cooking on a practical budget
Eating seasonally in the UK has a reputation for being expensive, but I’ve found the opposite to be true. The produce that’s abundant and in season is almost always cheaper than imported alternatives. A cauliflower in December costs less than a bag of salad leaves flown in from southern Europe. British apples in October are pennies each compared to imported berries. The key is to build meals around the affordable seasonal staples rather than treating seasonal produce as an expensive addition to an otherwise unchanged shopping list.
I’ve written more about budget meal planning and reducing food waste elsewhere on the site, but the short version is this: if you start your weekly meal planning by looking at what’s seasonal and affordable right now, rather than choosing recipes and then buying ingredients regardless of season, you’ll naturally spend less. A winter meal plan built around roots, brassicas, and stored fruit costs noticeably less than one built around out-of-season salad vegetables and imported soft fruit. The food will also taste better, because produce that’s grown locally and picked at the right time simply has more flavour than produce that’s been bred for travel.
Where to find British seasonal produce
I’ve put together a working list of resources that I use myself. This isn’t sponsored and I’m not affiliated with any of these — they’re just places I’ve found reliable over years of cooking in the UK.
- Farmers’ markets — most towns and cities have at least one. London has excellent markets including Borough, Marylebone, and Alexandra Palace, as well as smaller neighbourhood markets. The key question to ask any stallholder is “What’s particularly good this week?” — they’ll tell you honestly.
- Farm shops and PYO farms — pick-your-own farms are brilliant in summer for berries and in autumn for apples and pumpkins, and the prices are usually lower than retail. Attached farm shops often stock produce from neighbouring farms as well.
- Veg box schemes — Riverford, Abel & Cole, and Oddbox are the larger national options. Oddbox in particular uses produce that would otherwise go to waste due to cosmetic standards, so it’s both seasonal and waste-reducing. There are also excellent regional schemes worth seeking out.
- Supermarkets — Waitrose and Marks & Spencer generally do the best job of labelling British produce. Tesco, Sainsbury’s, and Morrisons all carry British seasonal lines but you need to read labels carefully. Lidl and Aldi have improved significantly in recent years and often have excellent British produce at lower prices, particularly root vegetables, apples, and brassicas.
- Local greengrocers — if you still have one near you, use it. Greengrocers typically source more locally than supermarkets and can tell you exactly where things came from. They also tend to be cheaper on seasonal staples.
I keep this calendar bookmarked on my phone and refer to it when I’m writing my shopping list each week. It’s not perfect, and I’m still learning about regional variations and micro-seasons within the broader categories. If you have local knowledge about what grows well in your part of the UK and when, or if you’ve discovered a variety or a source that deserves wider attention, I’d love to hear from you. The more we share this kind of practical, grounded knowledge, the easier it becomes for all of us to cook well with what’s actually around us.