Winter Wedding Cakes & Behind the Scenes at Lydia Kraitman Cakes

October 3rd 2026

October is my favourite kind of quiet.

Not the empty kind. The good kind. The cosy, reflective pause that arrives once summer has given everything it’s got. Wedding season is gently winding down, the last few summer celebrations have been wrapped up, and the cottage feels warmer somehow. The orchard slows. The garden takes a breath. And for the first time in months, there’s a little space to look back at what’s just happened, while also looking ahead to what’s coming next.

It’s the calm before the Christmas storm.

And honestly, I love it.

By early October, peak wedding season has eased. Not stopped. Just softened around the edges. There are slightly fewer weddings, but far more thinking. More admin done slowly over coffee before the dogs insist on a long walk. More lists. Fewer panic moments. A bit more breathing room. It’s also the point in the year where things quietly ramp up behind the scenes. Christmas menus start taking shape. Market dates get pencilled in. The last of the garden produce is gathered, frozen, labelled, and tucked away for later. There are often a few photoshoots dotted in too, sometimes a TV project, and the final bookings for early November tasting boxes begin to come through from couples already thinking ahead to winter weddings.

October is reflective, but it’s also productive.

It’s the best combination.

From a flavour point of view, this is a generous month. In Somerset, apples and pears are everywhere, plums and damsons are still clinging on, and if you’re quick, there are blackberries to be found. Quince makes its appearance, which is always a personal highlight for me, alongside hazelnuts, pecans, pumpkins, squash, and herbs that have survived the first real chill. At the same time, we’re quietly saying goodbye to strawberries, raspberries, elderflower, and the softer summer herbs. There’s a noticeable shift in the kitchen. Flavours deepen. Textures get richer. Spices start creeping in. Liquors begin to make an appearance. Autumn hands over to winter in a very clear, very deliberate way.

This is where winter wedding cakes really come into their own.

From a practical point of view, October onwards offers more freedom with design. There’s less fear of heat-related collapse. Buttercream behaves itself. Chocolate behaves itself. Everyone breathes a little easier. For couples planning winter weddings, this season is ideal for richer flavour profiles, spiced elements, alcohol-soaked fruits, caramel, praline, maple, honey, and more detailed, structured designs.

One thing I gently encourage couples towards at this time of year is leaning into the season rather than fighting it. Pumpkin doesn’t have to mean novelty. A well-balanced pumpkin pie flavour with maple, whisky, or pecan praline can be exceptional. Quince brings sharpness and perfume. Spices can be warming without ever feeling overwhelming.

And despite what people often worry about, there is time.

No rushing.

No panic decisions.

There are also things couples don’t always see. October weddings come with their own quirks.

Condensation becomes the enemy. Lighting for photos changes quickly. Darkness arrives earlier than expected. Setup windows can shrink. But there are positives too. More flexibility. More creative freedom. Less fear of heat undoing weeks of careful planning. If there’s one thing I find myself saying repeatedly at this point in the year, it’s that you don’t need to apologise for wanting something simple, indulgent, comforting, or a little different. Autumn and winter weddings allow for a softness that summer doesn’t always permit.

Behind the scenes, October days are still busy, but they feel different. Prep days slow down. Speedy dog walks morning and night involve scanning hedgerows, just in case something unexpected appears. It’s hopeful foraging rather than frantic.

This time of year always makes me want something comforting. Something slow. Something that feels earned.

Quince paste is exactly that. With a delicious cheese - something from Whitelake for example.

It’s one of those recipes that asks for patience rather than skill. It fills the kitchen with a gentle, floral warmth and rewards you at the end with something deeply autumnal and quietly impressive. I make it every year once quince appear, usually after a wedding weekend, when the house is finally calm again.

Quince Paste Recipe

Perfect served with cheese, sliced thinly with a cup of tea, or wrapped up as a small seasonal gift.

Ingredients

• Quince, washed, peeled, cored, and chopped (weigh after prepping)

• Caster sugar (equal weight to the cooked quince pulp)

• A squeeze of lemon juice

Method

Place the chopped quince into a large saucepan and cover with water. Simmer gently until completely soft. This can take anywhere from 30 to 45 minutes. Once soft, drain well and blend to a smooth purée.

Weigh the purée, then return it to the pan with the same weight of sugar and a squeeze of lemon juice. Cook gently, stirring often, until thick, glossy, and a deep pink colour. This can take a while, and it does require attention. Think slow, patient stirring rather than rushing.

Once the paste is thick enough to hold its shape and pulls away from the sides of the pan, pour it into a lined tray and smooth the top. Leave to set at room temperature for at least 24 hours before cutting. Store wrapped, or dust lightly with sugar if you’re feeling fancy.

October has me feeling quietly proud.

Proud of the summer that’s just passed. Grateful for the couples who trusted me with their weddings. Excited for winter weddings ahead. And very aware that Christmas is approaching faster than I’d like to admit. For couples planning winter weddings, this season offers something really special. Comfort. Atmosphere. Depth. And a little breathing space.

For me, it’s a moment to catch my breath, take stock, and enjoy the slower light before everything ramps up again.