Christmas Nigella: At My Table

SOFT PIANO MUSIC

ANIMALS CALL

WIND WHISTLES

That was a long journey, but so worth it,

and I'm going to wind down and settle in

with a little Christmas martini.

Ice...

..vodka...

..raspberry liqueur...

..and creme de cacao blanc - chocolate.

There is a warming hint of puddingness about this.

And more than a soupcon of camp.

And it needs a little bit of festive fur.

Rosemary will do.

Chin-chin!

CHIRPING

PIANO PLAYS Somewhere Only We Know

I am unapologetically urban,

but this year, I felt the call of the wild,

so I have decamped to the countryside.

I just felt the need to wake up to a big sky

and go for long walks and

eat hearty meals, and in the evenings, hunker down,

all cosy by a crackling log fire.

At this time of year, I like to have something sweet to stash in a tin,

both to give as presents and to have on stand-by

for when people drop by.

And this is where my forgotten cookies come in.

I start off with two large egg whites and, you know,

there's just something

about a gentle spot of cosy pottering and baking

that truly makes me feel Christmas has come.

And I just need a pinch of salt

before I whisk these to soft peaks.

It doesn't take very long.

Nearly there.

And, as with making a meringue, I'm going to add some sugar.

I've got 100g of caster sugar, and I'm going to keep the whisk fast

and add the sugar gradually.

I say much like a meringue, but, really, in a way,

these are, up to a point, meringues.

They are a cross between a meringue and a cookie,

so obviously at home we call these merookies.

Obviously.

Last bit of sugar.

And it's all in.

Ah! Beautiful gleaming snow.

Going to need this in a minute.

I want some ground cardamom.

Not a lot, a quarter of a teaspoon.

Such a distinctive scent,

it really is the smell of Scandinavian Christmas baking.

It's got a peppery citrusiness,

and deliciously smoky.

I want a teaspoon of cornflour.

There we are.

And a teaspoon of vinegar,

just regular white-wine or cider vinegar, and it's the cornflour and

vinegar that keep the merookies squidgy in the middle,

which is always desirable.

Right.

I'm going to fold these in by hand, just gently.

I don't know how it should be

that adding chocolate and nuts turns these into cookies. It just does!

So I've got 75g of teeny-weeny dark-chocolate chips.

And 75g as well of pistachios, all chopped up.

Beautiful, tender, green edged with pink.

It just makes it feel such a treat with the pistachios.

I don't know why it should be, but it just does.

Now I'm going to fold these in, gently.

And that is my merookie batter done.

Right, I kept the whisk for a reason.

We'll just stick down the baking parchment.

My seasonal spoons, ready for their annual outing.

I'm going to drop mounded blobs of this,

aiming for about 4-5cm in diameter,

but not measuring or being particularly numerate.

This is just deliciously relaxing.

These are unlike anything else.

They're...chewy, crisp and chocolaty, all at once.

And there is a reason why they're called forgotten cookies,

because I don't actually bake them.

I put them in an oven at sort of 180, and then

I turn the oven off immediately

and let them cook in the residual heat.

Normally leave them overnight

or I can do the same amount of hours all day,

since the rest of my cooking today is going to be on the hob.

And now for a little sprinkling of pistachios.

These are forgotten cookies, and I have to say,

I often do forget they're in the oven,

so I have to stick a note saying, "Do not use oven."

A bit of Christmas decoration.

I've got some edible disco glitter to go on top.

It won't lose its sparkle in the oven, not one bit.

Look at them twinkling.

All right, that's them done.

Note to self!

Off with the oven.

The note...

Inspired and uplifted by everything around me,

I've decided to have a little Christmas party,

and I'm going to throw it right here in the barn.

I've already started decorating, and it's going to be the most magical

space and just the perfect setting

for the feast I have in store for everyone.

To start everything off, I've got a cocktail with real oomph,

my sparkling Negroni Sbagliato.

MUSIC AND CHATTER

This will be served alongside my retro-fabulous devilled eggs.

Devilled eggs haven't been seen much since they adorned hostess trolleys

back in the '70s, but I say it's truly time for their comeback.

The main course is roast duck with orange soy in ginger - ah!

It's simple but sensational.

And it uses my sure-fire method

for getting the crispest skin imaginable,

and the most meltingly tender meat.

To go with, there's my garlic and Parmesan mash in golden gratin form,

a beautifully festive ruby stew of red cabbage with cranberries

and my bejewelled Brussels sprouts

with preserved lemon and pomegranate.

And after all that, there's dessert Nirvana

in the form of a dark and luscious sticky-toffee pudding

and brandy salted-caramel ice cream.

But before I get stuck into the party,

I've got supper to make for a few friends

to enjoy around the fire later.

There's a bit of chopping needed for this, but nothing too daunting,

even for someone with MY poor knife skills.

There are so many eating opportunities at this time of year.

It's not ALL about the meat feast.

Just get some heat under there, warm up the olive oil,

just a little bit of it.

And my Moroccan vegetable pots,

sweet with carrots and parsnips

and tangy with preserved lemons and dried apricots,

it's just the perfect relaxing, warming supper

when it's cold outside. Ah!

I love bowl food.

First in go the leeks.

That mellow, sweet onion flavour.

Now some cinnamon.

Cumin - THE Moroccan spice, I think.

Ah, some ground ginger.

Beautiful warming spices, just right.

And Christmassy, too.

I'm going to give everything a bit of a stir.

I don't want the leeks to soften.

I mean, really, I'm just turning them in the spiced oil.

Almost just for the pleasure of smelling it.

And now the carrots.

I like carrots cut into chunky batons,

but I really am not going to interfere with you

if you want fat coins.

And parsnips, a different way to have Christmas parsnips this year.

And I've got some chunked-up potato, not much,

but it will absorb all the spices beautifully.

Slightly thicken the juices, too.

And aubergine - well, it, too, drinks up the flavour,

whatever it cooks with.

There, give these vegetables a chance to become better acquainted.

They can mingle in the pot.

So, garlic.

What I like to do is just press down

with the flat of a knife so I can remove the skins easily,

and the cloves themselves become splintered.

Cooked this way, you don't get the burning heat of garlic, just mellow,

sweet warmth.

So after the sweet garlic, some salty green olives, pitted.

There they are. In they go, tumble in.

Ah, apricots!

Just going to snip them in.

Everyone can get more that way.

Better when they're hard, so that as you eat,

you can get sharp fruity bursts.

Ah, preserved lemons.

Once you discover these,

your life is changed for ever, and for the better.

There's something about them, unlike anything else.

Well, yes, they're like lemons, but they've got such intense sourness,

but such intense fragrance too.

They just enliven anything they're in.

I have to say, I use the juice from a jar of preserved lemons

to make my dirty lemon martini.

Just mix with vodka and the most whisper of vermouth.

I'm going to be a bit slovenly and just leave in the odd pip.

Perhaps I shouldn't, but I am.

Scrape up every last bit of this perfumed pulp.

Fragrance is just heady.

And now, some chickpeas. I like jarred chickpeas.

They are often Spanish jarred chickpeas.

They're much softer and squishier.

And there's so much flavour in the vegetables and the spices and,

of course, the preserved lemons. I don't need stock, merely water.

This is cold water.

Saffron. These precious strands with the...

..wonderful rich flavour and bringing that glint of gold as well.

I'm going to salt generously.

It's good to do everything generously.

There is quite a bit of peeling and chopping, I mean, not that much.

But this is so relaxing to make,

because everything goes into the pot and then it comes to a bubble,

simmers gently until it's tender, and that's all there is to it.

And I do love as well that the spices, which are North African,

and the dried fruit

are also the flavours of medieval Christmas feasting.

So now that it is cheerfully bubbling away, I have plans.

Lid on.

And I'm going to make some couscous to go with it.

I've already toasted some pine nuts, and I'll need them later.

I LOVE wholemeal couscous.

It's slightly nuttier than regular couscous and fluffs up wonderfully.

To this, I add some dried dill -

I'll be adding fresh dill on serving -

and I also add some vegetable bouillon powder.

I mix it all together - it's like playing in a sandpit -

before pouring over some just-boiled water.

Finally, I drizzle over a little olive oil and, once I've covered it,

I just let it stand.

The merookies have been idling in the oven all day,

and they'll make the perfect after-dinner treat.

Just before serving the couscous,

I toss through those toasted pine nuts and a few fronds of fresh dill.

Don't move! I have a small token

of my esteem and affection.

When I have a ladle, it always reminds me

of my custard monitor days.

I would dole out the custard at school.

-During lunch?

-Lunchtime.

It's the only position of authority I've had.

THEY CHUCKLE

Here you are.

Here you are, my beautiful.

Hang on.

Mmm!

That's quite scary!

Quite a big revelation.

THEY ALL CHUCKLE

OK, napkins at the ready.

-This is going to go everywhere.

-It's beautiful.

Mmm, they're so chewy.

That's a really chunky one.

-Mmm!

-Oh!

-Oh!

Thank you.

There we are.

CHURCH BELL CHIMES

MUSIC: Jingle Bells

Right, I just need to pop into town for some seasonal supplies.

Hello. I've come to collect the ducks.

-Yeah, no problem. I'll get those for you.

-Gorgeous.

-How do they look?

Beautiful. Perfect, thank you.

# Make my wish come true. #

-Thank you.

-Thank you very much.

-See you.

# ..trim trees and deck the halls... #

A cosy warm pub is the perfect place to be on a cold and wintry day.

I'm never going to change my approach to Christmas dinner itself.

For me, it has to be turkey.

I get my bucket out, I do the brine, the works.

But, really, I like to get as many celebrations in as possible

at Christmas-time, and my roast duck with ginger,

orange and soy is fabulously festive,

and it's just right for my cosy country escape.

So I've got a couple of ducks there, ready for my gentle ministrations,

because although I do cook these in two parts, two stages,

neither of them are at all labour-intensive.

In fact, this is about the sum of it -

pricking the duck skin to make little holes.

Rather enjoying these puncture noises!

All the fat will drip out of the holes I'm making and make the skin

wonderfully crisp later.

I've always roasted duck in a two-stage operation,

but this is my new simplified version.

What I used to do is boil the duck first,

but I really thought, at this time of year,

who needs to be wrangling ducks out of a big pan of boiling water?

So now I steam-roast them for the first time.

So the first stage, the steam-roasting,

keeps the meet lusciously tender

and the final quick blitz in a hot oven

means that the skin is bronzed and crisp, wafer-thin,

with delicate shards of QUACKLING!

OK, I'm going to have to make myself stop, because I love this too much.

Ooh! Right.

So I mentioned steam-roasting, and this is what I mean.

Careful not to put the water over the duck.

I want it to come up about one centimetre.

This is what keeps the meat really lusciously, velvety soft.

And for this stage,

they need an hour and a half at 180 degrees

and I need to lurch ovenwards.

I don't add anything to the ducks while I cook them,

because this sauce adds all the flavour their rich meat needs.

I've got half a litre of cold water, and - mm, the smell of Christmas -

I want the pared zest of two oranges.

And I use two rather than one large one

because this size tends to have the thinner skin,

which gives a more delicate orange flavour and less of the pith.

I wish I were the sort of person who could remove this in one piece,

but no point lamenting it.

I'll never be that person. Anyway, what does it matter?

And now, the warmth and pep of some fresh ginger.

I can add these golden coins to the pan.

And the last ingredient for now, to this Asian-scented sauce -

well, it's more of an anointing liquid, really -

is star anise.

Mm, gorgeous scent.

Stage one is just let these flavours infuse,

although the final touches are not much more complicated.

Ah!

Anything that makes life easier is a good thing.

This is all so simple, but the depth of flavour is immense.

This has come to a bubble now, so I can turn it off and...

Mm! It's got a fabulously festive fragrance

and I need do nothing to it until we're about to eat.

I've got a couple of other things I want to get ahead with.

I love cooking in advance at this time of year.

And it wouldn't be Christmas without red cabbage.

You know how, when you cook spinach,

you start off with a huge sack and you end up with a teacupful?

Well, red cabbage is the other way round.

Before I start cooking,

I always worry I'm not going to have enough and then, once it's cooked,

I realise I can keep several families going for ages.

Which is very gratifying!

And now a bit of colour coordination.

Cut this red onion into fine half moons.

Look, I don't claim to have knife skills.

I mean, so far, this is pretty much like

the red cabbage my mother always cooked at Christmas.

Although, actually, she would use a regular onion, not a red onion.

And just as she did, I'm adding sugar, some soft dark sugar.

Ditto the spicing.

Really lovely and warm.

Cinnamon.

Mm!

So sort of rich and seasonal.

That's it. Christmas!

Just a bit of cloves, not too much.

A little goes a long way here.

But this is where I've changed things.

I add cranberries, some dried cranberries here.

Little nuggets of tiny sweetness.

And then, a whole load of fresh cranberries.

You can use frozen, too.

And there's something about this sweetly braised red cabbage with

the cheek-squeaky sharpness of these cranberries that's just magnificent.

And a heavy snowfall of salt.

And I cook this in apple juice, just from a carton.

You don't have to get squeezing.

And I know it looks as if there's not a lot here but, of course,

the cranberries and the cabbage and the onion give off liquid

as they cook. OK, I'm going to rupture this beautiful scene.

I want to give everything a stir before I bring it to a bubble.

And the wonderful thing about red cabbage is that it actually tastes

better when you make it a bit ahead,

so not only does it make your life easier,

but it makes everything even more gorgeous.

Pat this down a bit.

SQUEAK! Oh!

I think that was a cranberry squealing there!

OK, heat on.

Just let it come to a bubble.

This is a real seasonal addition to me, sort of in one bowl,

braised red cabbage in cranberry sauce.

So you can see what I mean about not needing any more apple juice,

because now it's hot,

all the red cabbage in its jewels, and more or less submerged.

I'm just going to let this bubble for a short bit,

and the cranberries are beginning to pop.

And the wonderful thing is, the pectin in the cranberries

actually thickens the liquid later.

Such a gorgeous sight.

However, it needs its lid on while it cooks until it is tender.

And I just heat it up for the party.

So easy!

My ducks have steam-roasted and, once they've cooled down,

they can stay in the fridge overnight, and if my numbers grow,

which they well might,

I can prepare a couple more ducks as needed.

Now, for my easy make-ahead garlic and Parmesan mash.

I boil the potatoes with several fat cloves of garlic

and, once drained, I add butter

and some of the garlicky potato water before mashing roughly.

I add a little more water - as much as I need

to make the mash soft and creamy - and whisk until smooth.

Do not use a blender or processor here, or the mash will get gluey.

Finally, I had a generous amount of grated Parmesan

and mix it in by hand

before dividing between a couple of buttered ovenproof dishes.

And I'll leave these as they are now,

adding a topping just before I warm them up on the day.

For me, Christmas isn't Christmas without the lights,

and although I have more than enough in the house -

though, can you EVER have enough? -

I love going into the sparkly outside

to take in the local illuminations.

# Those Christmas lights

# Light up the street

# Down where the sea and city meet

# May all your troubles soon be gone

# Those Christmas lights

# Keep shining on... #

I absolutely HAVE to have salted caramel at Christmas

in some shape or form, and the form I decree this year

is my brandy salted-caramel ice cream.

And it is ludicrously simple to make.

I mean, it helps that the caramel comes out of the tin.

It's caramel condensed milk.

Or you can use dulce de leche - it's exactly the same thing,

just dulce de leche sounds chicer!

One tin, squelch it out.

397g, if you really want to know.

And a small tub of double cream, 300mls.

Just going to stir these together a little bit before I start whisking.

The joy of this is that it's a no-churn ice cream.

Just mix everything together, put it in tubs, put it in the deepfreeze,

go to sleep, get up, you've got ice cream.

Salt, obviously.

Now, I'm going to start off with about a teaspoon of salt, moderate.

I'll just whisk you altogether.

I just want it to get thickened.

Mm! I can hardly wait.

So I'm going to turn the speed down a bit while I add the brandy.

A spillage of brandy.

I normally make salted caramel ice cream with bourbon,

but at Christmas, it has to be brandy.

I'm just going to have a taste, the ultimate sacrifice,

because you really have to feel your way

to the right amount of salt and brandy.

And I want more of both.

You have to be a bit brave and brazen at this point,

because all the flavours will be slightly muted once it's frozen.

So I've made my ice cream.

And a scoop of this with the sticky toffee pudding and extra sauce -

I can't tell you how deeply gorgeous it is.

Without too much spilling all over the place,

I'm going to fill up my tubs.

Nearly to the top, not quite.

Mm, gorgeous stuff.

Well, I could get a bit more out,

but I think I'm going to scrape that down for myself later.

I come armed.

Right, shall we try a little Christmassy...

I don't know.

That was meant to be a star.

I don't know what I'm going to do here.

Um... Maybe a bell.

Art is not my thing.

Right, to the freezer with these.

Everyone's coming round tonight, and I'm looking forward to it.

I'm excited, but I do want to grab a moment of calm now.

It's so wonderful to be able to have a walk in the woods.

It's both soothing and uplifting at the same time.

# And if you have a minute, why don't we go

# Talk about it, somewhere only we know

# This could be the end of everything

# So why don't we go

# Somewhere only we know... #

You know, recipes come into my life in serendipitous fashion.

I was lounging about on my sofa one evening,

reading one of the best titles in my collection,

Being Dead Is No Excuse -

The Official Southern Ladies Guide To Hosting The Perfect Funeral.

Anyway, I was reading this - it's a very funny book -

and I came across a recipe for devilled eggs and, really,

I hadn't thought about devilled eggs for ages,

not since I was a child, and even then,

I didn't think very long and hard about them.

And then, not long after that,

I got this book in the post from a friend of mine in America.

It's called Thoughts For Buffets.

And her note says, "Nigella, I found this at the estate sale

"of Veronica Lake's hairstylist, Carl Evans. That's all."

And obviously read it straightaway,

and it too had a recipe

for devilled eggs that jumped up at me

and it was meant to be.

They came into my life and there's no turning back.

Now, I know you don't need me to tell you how to boil and egg,

-but I'm going to tell you how

-I

-make them, and that is,

I cook the eggs in a pan of boiling water for one minute,

then I leave them in the pan but turn the heat off for a further 12,

and then I transfer the eggs to a bowl of iced water for

15 minutes exactly,

before peeling them, and then I'm ready to roll.

I don't deny, I mean, devilled eggs are fiddly to make,

but they're not actually difficult.

I'm just halving my last few eggs.

And I'm popping out their yolks into a receptacle

which may or may not be wise.

It's a vintage jelly mould.

It will look festive. What can I tell you?

And you can see, well, it's not infallible,

that because I did let the eggs lie on their sides overnight,

before boiling them, that the yolks are pretty centre,

pretty much centred, anyway.

If you haven't had a devilled egg, I suppose the best way I have

of describing it to you is to say

it's a bit like an egg form of a loaded potato skin.

I'm going to add flavour to these yolks and then stuff the cavities in

the eggs with them. Anyway, watch carefully.

First in, some mayonnaise.

Now what do I need? Oh, English mustard.

In America, when you eat these, it's always got Dijon, but, no,

I want them to be really properly devilled.

A bit more fire or, Satanic seasoning, if you want.

Some paprika.

Hot paprika.

So this isn't just flavour, it just makes it look so gloriously golden.

And some Tabasco.

Shall I add more?

No, I'm going to exercise some uncharacteristic restraint.

I can taste later.

Some salt.

I'm just going to mix everything together a bit with a fork first.

Oh, this would be so good in a sandwich.

I certainly have an overwhelming desire

to slather it on two slices of good white bread

and just clamp them together.

Devilled eggs, for all that they're retro, are no joke.

However many I make, they always, always get eaten.

Now, obviously you can just whip these with a fork,

but I want them to be so light, and for that I need this bit of heavy

machinery - a stick blender.

A quick blitz.

Extra virgin olive oil.

This also helps with the smoothness

and gives its glorious flavour.

This is not the best thing to use.

We'll get there, though, don't worry.

I'm going to leave this planted here, in my jelly mould,

and key to everything emulsifying is some hot water.

And that makes it so smooth and easy to pipe.

And that's it, beautiful texture.

I'm going to have a quick taste to see if I want any more Tabasco.

Just a bit more.

OK, now...

The moment I have both been looking forward to and dreading.

Piping. Actually, I rather enjoy it.

It's so not me and I never thought

I'd be one for getting a fancy nozzle piping bag out,

but devilled eggs warrant it - in fact, they demand it.

I'm just going to fill up my piping bag...

..with all this golden goo.

Now, as you might imagine, I am not a natural piper.

But I'm going to do my best and, actually,

because I do add chopped chives and more paprika over the eggs

at the end, any little...

..mistake can be covered up.

Anyway, you know what? Try and be perfect in life,

you're going to have a very miserable existence.

You don't actually have to pipe.

You could use two teaspoons and blob the yolk mixture in,

but I want the full experience - total body immersion!

Start pushing down.

Like, you know, like, ah!

I'm going to enjoy this.

I've got a star nozzle

and I am going to attempt little rosettes.

See, that's the thing about whipping it like that.

It's so easy to pipe, although I mustn't jinx myself.

When you pipe each little bit,

just remove the tip very swiftly from each one.

Now, I'm not getting identical results.

That doesn't matter. It's not factory made,

this is home cooking. OK, don't mind me.

I've got some more eggs to pipe and I want to lose myself in them.

It's very peaceful work. Rather mesmerising.

The calm before the seasonal storm.

It's made my Christmas.

A dusting of paprika.

It's easier to do it like this, from a height.

And a confetti of chives.

Perfect, perfect party food.

Even though I'm about to have everyone descend on me,

I'm feeling calm and relaxed, and that is the joy

of being able to do so much in advance.

The par-cooked ducks, for example,

have stood out of the fridge for a while,

and I've given them both a good going over with a cocktail stick,

and they need just an hour's blast in a 220-degree oven now.

My garlic and Parmesan mash is ready for the gratin topping.

I made this by rubbing together 50g of breadcrumbs,

50g of soft unsalted butter

and 35g of grated Parmesan.

This needs 30 minutes in a 200-degree oven,

though you could always put them in the oven below the duck.

I've put the red cabbage on to warm up,

and I'll do the sprouts at the very last minute,

but right now, there is pudding to make.

Much as I love bringing new flavours to all the festivities,

I have to say, this time of year is also just about the cosiness

of tradition, and at my table,

a sticky toffee pudding is a Christmas classic.

Now interesting, I say classic, but you know,

sticky toffee pudding didn't even come to exist until the '70s.

I've got 200g of soft-dried pitted dates,

and these need to be roughly chopped.

I add a teaspoon of bicarb,

before pouring over 200ml of just-boiled water.

I leave these to soften while I get on with the cake batter.

First in goes 75g of soft unsalted butter,

and then two tablespoons of gleaming and viscous black treacle.

These need to be mixed together

before I add 50g of dark muscovado sugar.

Once this is incorporated,

I beat in, a little more gently now, two large eggs,

which are at room temperature.

Then 150g of plain flour...

..and finally, two teaspoons of baking powder.

I thrash the softened dates with a fork,

squishing them a bit before adding them, liquid and all,

to the batter and carry on mixing until combined.

I pour and scrape the lovely buff-coloured batter

into a buttered oven-proof dish of about 23 centimetres square

and bake at 180 degrees for about 30 minutes.

Just like the cake that goes underneath it,

my version of sticky toffee pudding sauce has a savage intensity.

It starts with 150g of butter.

I just want a gentle heat under it for now,

to help it start to melt and on top,

300g of dark muscovado sugar.

I want it molasses sticky, gingerbready richness.

Yes, there's a lot of it,

but this is not the time of year for restraint.

When is, frankly?

And now some treacle,

and I have a tablespoon here that I've had in hot water.

In theory, at least, it means the treacle

should run off the spoon better.

Easier for measuring out.

There's a wonderful dark undertone to the black treacle

and a little bit of ferrous tang that I like.

I'm just going to swirl it for a bit.

I just want everything to melt together.

The butter has more or less melted,

so I'm going to start giving everything a bit of a stir.

So, of course, the flavours here echo the gorgeous flavours

of the date-studded cake.

Look at that darkly gleaming at me.

It has such a sombre majesty.

My last ingredient - 200ml of double cream.

I rather enjoy seeing it just getting engulfed by the darkness.

All I need to do now is let this come to a bubble,

and then I'll pour a quarter of it - or thereabouts,

I don't need to measure -

over the cake to form a sticky glaze,

and the rest goes into those jugs,

and it can be poured thickly over both sticky toffee pudding

and ice cream later.

LIVELY MUSIC PLAYS

CHATTER AND LAUGHTER

I've got the perfect cocktail to make my party go with a swing.

It's called a Negroni Sbagliato.

Now, you may know a classic Negroni

which is gin, red vermouth and Campari,

and this version simply uses Prosecco instead of the gin

and "sbagliato" means mistaken,

and the story is that this cocktail came about by happy accident

at the Bar Basso in Milan in the '60s

when a bartender used Prosecco instead of gin.

I think it's probably apocryphal, but you know what?

All cocktails have the romance of their own narrative.

I'm prepared to go with it,

not least because I so much prefer a Negroni Sbagliato to a classic one,

although I wouldn't tell everyone.

So here we are.

You seem to like your drink. I'll give you a top-up in a minute.

It's really good.

Would you like to try one? You might need two hands.

Well, the party seems to have got off to a good start

and the Brussels sprouts are the work of mere moments.

Talking of which, can I just say,

I have no time for the vociferous anti-sprout brigade

or their Brussels bashing bigotry.

I love sprouts in all their incarnations,

and this exotic casserole is my favourite way to eat them right now.

First off, I soften some sliced leek in a little oil and butter.

I mince in some garlic now.

Give it a good stir.

Then I add some finely chopped preserved lemons -

you know how much I love them -

and stir them into the garlicky leeks.

A little cinnamon adds Christmassy warmth but subtly.

Now I add the sprouts,

which I've halved, and it also seems to make them go further.

I turn them in the pan, and when they're well coated,

I add a generous sprinkling of sea salt flakes and pour in

a little just-boiled water.

Then I clamp on a lid.

These take only a few minutes to cook.

Now I just need to finish off the sauce for the duck.

I remove the bits of orange peel, ginger and star anise,

add some soy sauce to the now deeply flavoured liquid in the pan,

and warm it up.

Once it's hot, stir in a little bit of honey.

Pour some of the aromatic sauce over the meat,

avoiding the crisp skin, and serve the rest as gravy.

I've reheated my rubied red cabbage and cranberries on the hob...

..and the potatoes are ready to come out crisped and hot from the oven.

The sprouts are cooked -

tender but still with a bit of crunch -

and I just need to sprinkle over a generous amount of pomegranate seeds

and chopped parsley before mixing everything together

and sprinkling yet more on top.

Can I give you some of these to hand out? There we are.

CHATTER

I'm going to have more, then.

We like the duck.

It's so delicious.

When the cake part of the STP is cooked,

I prick it all over with a cocktail stick and then ladle over a layer

of the darkly shining sauce.

It can stand like this till I'm ready to serve it along with

my salted caramel ice cream and more of its luscious sauce.

-Oh, wow.

-This has got brandy in it.

LAUGHTER

Mm!

It's so good.

# Red sails in the sunset

# Way out on the sea

# Oh, carry my loved one

# Oh, bring him home safely to me

# He sailed at the dawning, oh

# And don't you know all day I've been blue

# Red, red, red sails in the sunset

# Way out, way out on the sea

# Oh, carry my loved one

# Home safely to me. #