Nature as supreme authority
In the Far North, the notion of food 'choice' is a modern illusion that the climate is quickly dissipating. Here, it is not the consumer who decides what to eat, it is the earth, the sky and the sea. When frost covers the fjords and daylight lasts only a few hours, nature imposes a discipline on us that we would never have the strength to inflict on ourselves. There are no tropical fruits full of sugar, no fragile summer vegetables, no fresh cereals. There is what has survived, what has been preserved, and what continues to live under the ice. This constraint is not a punishment; it is a metabolic instruction of absolute clarity. It forces us to go back to basics: dense proteins, protective fats and the roots that have concentrated their energy all summer.
I grew up with this understanding that seasonality is not an aesthetic option for fine dining restaurant menus, but a matter of survival and balance. The Scandinavian body was forged in this alternation of rigor and relative abundance. In winter, our metabolism slows down, turns inward and learns to burn fat with formidable efficiency to maintain heat. It's a state of natural ketosis, imposed by the environment long before the word became fashionable. By accepting this authority of nature, we stop fighting against our own biology. We align ourselves with a rhythm beyond ourselves, and it is in this alignment that we find stable health and resilience that artificial diets can never provide.
The time of density and stability
The northern winter is a long tunnel of silence and cold. In this environment, simple sugar is biological nonsense. Looking for a glucose peak when the thermometer reads minus twenty degrees is like trying to light a big fire with straw: it burns quickly, it doesn't heat up, and it leaves cold ashes. What the body needs is burning coal, energy that lasts. This is where animal fats, fatty deep-sea fish and dried meats come into play. These foods do not cause glycemic swings; they create a solid thermal base. We eat to last, not to entertain ourselves.
This forced absence of fast sugars for several months has a purifying effect on the metabolism. The body cleanses itself, insulin receptors rest, and mental clarity sets in. It's a period of forced sobriety that makes us incredibly attentive to the quality of what we consume. Every calorie should count. A piece of smoked reindeer or a portion of cod liver are not just food; they are concentrates of nutrients that support our vital functions and our morale. Winter teaches us that satiety is not a question of volume, but of density. It's a lesson in nutritional minimalism that sticks with us long after the thaw.
Rebirth without excess
When the ice finally gives way and the first shoots break through the snow, the Scandinavian spring does not necessarily bring an orgy of carbohydrates. The greenery that emerges is bitter, crunchy, full of minerals and living water. These are young birch leaves, wild garlic, the first wild herbs. These foods do not disrupt the metabolic stability of winter; they complete it. They provide the freshness and micronutrients necessary to wake up the body, but without the glycemic load which would disrupt our adaptation to fats. It's a gentle transition, a cleansing transition.
I often see people surprised that our spring cuisine remains so simple. But it is because we respect the message of the earth. The earth does not yet give us sweet fruits; it gives us something to purify our blood and stimulate our liver. By eating these bitter plants and river fish that swim upstream, we remain in a state of active lightness. We do not seek to 'fill' ourselves again, but to 'awaken' ourselves. This is a fundamental nuance. Northern spring is a lesson in restraint and precision, where each young shoot is savored for its vitality and not for its softness.
The seasons as a metabolic metronome
Living to the rhythm of the seasons means giving your body a natural metronome. The error of modern man is to want to live in a perpetual summer, with unlimited access to sugars and fruits all year round. This creates profound metabolic confusion. The body no longer knows whether it should store or burn, whether it should rest or activate. In Scandinavia, the change of season is so abrupt that it is impossible to ignore. This rhythm imposes a forced metabolic flexibility which is the key to longevity. The body learns to switch from one mode to another, to adapt to scarcity as well as relative abundance.
This alternation creates a resilience that is not found in those who eat the same thing 365 days a year. Our cells need these changes in stimuli to stay intelligent. Autumn is the time of preparation, when we eat wild berries — rich in antioxidants but low in sugar — and wild mushrooms. This is the time when we accumulate vitamin reserves to face the darkness. Each season has its function, its role in the great symphony of our health. By respecting this schedule, we stop being passive consumers and become biological beings integrated into their environment again.
The involuntary gratitude of the Great North
Finally, living like this develops a form of gratitude that I would describe as involuntary. We don't force ourselves to be grateful; we are naturally so because we understand the value of what happens. When you have gone six months without seeing a green leaf, the first wild lettuce tastes like heaven. When you've been eating dried fish all winter, the first fresh salmon is a celebration. This intensity of taste is directly linked to rarity. Sugar, through its omnipresence, has killed gratitude. He made everything banal, everything accessible, everything bland.
By returning to a diet dictated by the seasons and low in refined carbohydrates, we find this capacity for wonder. We are not fighting against desires; we are waiting for appointments. We are not lacking; we are in anticipation. There is deep peace in knowing that nature will take care of us if we accept its rules. I don't decide to be low-carb out of ideology; I am out of respect for the land that supports me. And this earth, in its magnificent rigor, offers me everything I need to be strong, clear and serene. The season decided before me, and I have never made a better decision than to follow it.
