Episode 1 Nigella: At My Table

THEY CHATTER

This is very delicious.

A table is more than a piece of furniture,

just as food is more than mere fuel.

When I moved into my first home many years ago,

before I did anything else, I bought a table.

And not just to eat at, but to live around.

-Chin-chin.

-Chin-chin, everybody.

-Cheers.

-Thank you.

At my table when I'm winding down at the end of a long day...

They're ready for me and I'm ready for them.

..celebrating friendship at weekend feasts

or making memories with family...

..the food I eat is vibrant and varied.

But always relaxed.

Old favourites...

So far, so good.

..and fresh discoveries.

I need to be alone with my sandwich now.

The comfort of the familiar combined with the exuberance of the new.

Ah, I can hear how good this is going to be.

The essential welcoming taste of home.

There's no elegant way to eat them and that's in their favour.

Whether I'm pottering about at the stove or sitting at the table,

I want pleasure, I want flavour and I want ease.

Life can be complicated, cooking doesn't have to be.

I was going in for a bit of larder management recently

and I realised that my chilli collection had got so large,

it was about time I gave it its own shelf, the hot spot.

I mean, I've got sauces, I've got pastes, I've got flakes,

I mean, from all over. I mean, where, where do I start?

Mexico, why not?

Oh, I love this. It's a mixture of chilli, lime and salt.

It's absolutely wonderful sprinkled over melon

and rather lovely on avocado, too.

Now, I think Turkey next.

This is Urfa biber.

It's almost black.

it's...so rich and raisin-y and its smoky taste makes it wonderful

with garlicky roast aubergine.

Now, this is what I want now, still in Turkey, Aleppo pepper.

Pul biber in Turkey, or Aleppo pepper.

I love its distinct lemoniness

and I need it right now for my Turkish eggs.

You can keep your eggs Benedict,

my first creamy mouthful of these Turkish eggs and I was utterly sold.

The thing is, I think you have to taste it to understand it.

That's to say, a poached egg on garlicky yoghurt

with a chilli butter sauce on top.

But it is not only a revelation, but a complete sensation.

That's Greek yoghurt there.

I need a clove of garlic.

That's minced in.

And sea salt flakes.

I cannot eat eggs without a lot of salt.

Although traditionally the yoghurt's cold,

I like this to be just above room temperature.

I suppose you could say Turkish room temperature.

So, I've got a pan here of water that's come to the boil

and is now just hot.

The gentle heat underneath the bowl makes the yoghurt less thick

than when it's fridge-cold, which is what I want.

So that's the garlicky yoghurt and it can just sit here.

And now for the butter sauce.

So I need...butter.

Don't be tempted to have the flame high, just be patient, it'll happen.

If it gets too hot it'll just spit at you.

And this is it, beautiful and hazelnut-y.

So, to this, heat off, I add some extra virgin olive oil.

And now my beautiful red pepper flakes.

The Aleppo pepper.

And as I stir, these foam up fierily.

And this will stand very happily while I poach the egg.

The water's almost come to the boil so I'll get my eggs.

I always keep eggs out except when I'm poaching them.

I've had a pathological fear of egg-poaching for so long

that I have certain steps that have made me now pretty naturally calm

when I poach an egg, eager to poach an egg.

So, rule one - fridge-cold.

It just keeps its shape better.

Rule two - crack the egg into a tea strainer,

and let the watery bit of white drip off underneath.

It's this watery bit of white that, when you poach it, would turn into

stringy fluff.

I sometimes miss this stage out.

I mean, if it's just a poached egg on toast for me in the morning,

but Turkish eggs deserve the very best.

And now...rule three.

Gently transfer the egg to a cup or a ramekin,

and instead of adding vinegar to the poaching water,

I add, I suppose, about a teaspoon of lemon juice

just directly onto the egg white.

It makes the white sort of go... SHE SUCKS IN

..and hold its shape better.

And now let's see.

I'm going to slip the egg in very gently.

Make sure your cup is as near to the surface of the water as possible,

and then turn the heat down.

I don't want to see any movement in the water.

I cannot eat Turkish eggs without a hunk of toast to dip in

so, toast on and I want some dill sprinkled over.

So peaceful when the water's that low.

So while the egg's poaching, add the yoghurt.

Just a few splodges.

You don't need too much.

And now gently lift the egg out,

drip off a teeny bit of excess water and there we are,

on top of the yoghurt, perfect.

And the sauce.

I'm going to pour that both over the egg,

but some around the edges of the yoghurt,

like a chilli butter moat.

The dill.

My toast.

Perfect timing.

And this is just the best breakfast in the world.

Morning, noon or night, I am always ready to eat.

I remember visiting my late mother-in-law in hospital one day

and the woman in the bed next to her suddenly shouted out,

"Help, I need a sandwich!"

And I so understood.

That's how hunger always takes me and I regularly have the

same feeling of urgent need for a chocolate brownie

and I can't necessarily justify making a whole batch.

And this is where my emergency brownies come in.

They don't take very long and you don't need very many ingredients,

but what you end up with are two large fudgy squares to be

snaffled still warm and squidgy, straight from the tin if need be.

So, when your need is great,

put 50g of soft unsalted butter into a pan,

then sprinkle over 50g of soft light brown sugar.

Add a tablespoonful of amber maple syrup,

though you could always use golden syrup.

Put it on a gentle heat and give it a stir every now and then.

When it's all melted, take the pan off the heat,

add three tablespoons of cocoa

to three tablespoons of plain flour already in a bowl,

along with a quarter of a teaspoon of sea salt flakes.

Mix together, then stir them into the waiting saucepan.

Crack an egg into a bowl.

Add a teaspoon of vanilla extract, then lightly whisk together.

Then add this to the saucepan

and stir again until everything is smoothly and glossily combined.

Tip in 50g of chocolate chips and the same weight of walnut pieces

and give everything a final stir.

I always bake my emergency brownies in one of those little foil tins

that looks like you've got takeaway food.

Scrape every last bit of the knobbly, fudgy batter into the tin

and bake in an oven at 170 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes,

by which time the top will be just set

and the edges coming away from the tin.

If at all possible, and I know it's a big ask,

let the brownies stand out of the oven for 20 or 30 minutes

before diving in.

# Whoa, whoa-oo-whoa

# Oh, yeah, yeah-ee-yeah

# Whoa, whoa-oo-whoa

# Oh, yeah, yeah-ee-yeah

# All though I love you so

# Oh, you don't know

# You don't know just how I feel

# For my love... #

I'm after some flowers to decorate my table and I find myself,

naturally enough, drawn to the Nigella flowers,

more familiarly known as love in the mist.

And I think I'll put in just a few green bell along with them.

I don't need very many because what I'm going to do is cut them all down

and put them in some teeny vintage milk bottles I've got and dot them

prettily around the table.

I always remember, and I might have mentioned this before,

that my mother was very firm, about many things,

but in particular about not having big, blowsy displays of flowers

on a table, because she said it interfered with people's eye-line,

and thus with their conversation, which was a complete no-no.

And there's going to be a lot of noisy conversation later

because I've got some of my family coming round for supper.

And I'm giving them one of my absolute favourite things to cook

at the moment, which is my chicken and pea tray bake.

It's just the thing for a relaxed get-together around the table.

Oh, and afterwards...

Well, after, there is the aptly named Queen of Puddings.

Wow, that looks amazing.

I love an old cookery book and I'm

forever trawling second-hand book shops or their online equivalents.

This one is a particular joy.

It's called Our Favourite Dish, or The Theatre Recipe Book, and it's

an anthology, always a rich seam,

of recipes by the sort of leading performers and actors of the age.

And this is, really, 1952 it came out.

Where shall I start?

Well, why not with Noel Coward?

Now, he's got a recipe here he calls Warsaw Concerto, not sure why.

That's film music from a 1940s British film, maybe it's an in-joke.

And I feel you should be eating this in leather slippers,

trousers and a very long silk dressing gown.

And actually, it was flicking through this book that reminded me

of the majesty that is Queen of Puddings.

The Queen of Puddings is a very traditional British pudding

and you start off with eggs and you separate them.

And with the yolks you make a custard, studded with breadcrumbs,

and then there's jam, and with the whites you make a meringue topping.

Now, my Queen of Puddings, I suppose, is the

Marie Antoinette version because I use brioche rather than breadcrumbs.

Into a buttered oven-proof dish

add crumbs made from 150g of brioche.

Then pour 500ml of full-fat milk into a saucepan.

Add 50g of soft unsalted butter,

a teaspoon of vanilla,

25g of caster sugar and a pinch of salt.

Then I add the finely grated zest of a lemon.

This needs to be warmed through just until the butter has melted.

Then take the mixture off the heat and add it to a bowl containing

four egg yolks and whisk together.

When everything is fragrantly combined,

pour over the crumbs in their dish and leave for ten minutes

before baking in an oven at 170 degrees for 20 minutes.

And with pudding well under way,

I can now get on with my chicken and pea tray bake.

You know, I really had thought I had exhausted the culinary possibilities

of a packet of frozen peas,

but a friend of mine recently showed me his method for using them,

still frozen, as the first layer in a tray bake.

Takes a leap of faith, but go with it.

With the peas, I want the gentle allium savouriness of leeks, sliced.

This is so relaxing.

Easy to make, cosy to eat.

You know, I'm totally unembarrassed about using frozen peas whenever

I can and I'm very, very proud of the fact that Nigel Slater has

crowned me the queen of the frozen pea.

Come back.

So, the leeks can join the petits pois.

And now two fat cloves of garlic.

Everything goes straight into the pan.

And any nub I can't mince I can just drop in as it is.

Let this little nub go in as well.

Wonderful.

A good scattering of sea salt flakes.

Next, a little olive oil.

Just regular olive oil.

And a splosh of dry white vermouth.

A flourish of dill.

I need some to scatter on later,

but this must be torn up over the peas.

And to help stop me getting frostbite as I mix

everything together...

..some gloves.

And this being a chicken and pea tray bake,

I need my chicken.

Thighs for me.

As the peas cook, they grow duller in colour, certainly,

but so much more vibrant in flavour,

and the steam they give off makes the chicken exceptionally tender,

and its skin crisp and crackly.

For one more little touch, I need a little more oil

just on the chicken skin.

And ditto with the sea salt.

Once they come out the oven, I'm going to scatter them with the dill

I've got left.

Oh, and alongside, I've got these rather fabulous black-skinned

purple-flesh vitelotte potatoes.

I'll steam these later, but for now, this needs to go in the oven.

It'll be done in about an hour and a quarter and while it cooks,

I'll potter about and get the table ready for my sister and family.

I do love a cluttered table.

The more bits and pieces there are dotted about the place,

the happier I am.

And I know I haven't left a lot of room for the food but that doesn't

matter. I'll squeeze it in.

And it doesn't matter, either,

that we're all shoved up against one another because, really,

the whole point of this is being together.

Once my tray bake is hot out of the oven,

I strew it abundantly with dill.

-The chick, my little chicks.

-Ooh, lovely.

-Jimbo.

-Oh, yes.

-Two?

-Yes, please.

THEY CHATTER

THEY LAUGH

Well, everyone's happy and that makes me happy.

And to up the happiness quotient further, pudding.

So, the first layer has been baked and it's sat out a little.

And it's tender and soft but just set on the surface.

But part of the majesty of Queen of Puddings resides in its gleaming,

billowing meringue topping, so I'll get on with that.

I just need to wait until the meringue is forming firm peaks.

SHE EXHALES

Perfect!

So, I'm going to add the sugar now.

I've got 100g here for these four egg whites

and full speed ahead.

Mmm! So, that's the gorgeous and gleaming topping.

And I've got the base, so now the middle layer - not very arduous.

I have some jam, plum jam I want,

and I'm going to add some lemon juice.

Partly to make it a little more pourable and spreadable,

but also because I need a little more acerbity.

Mm. Look at this, so beautiful.

Positively regal.

I want to spread it just lightly and gently on top.

So that's all done and now to dollop the meringue on top.

And gentle dolloping because I don't want to streak the jam through it.

There we are.

It's important to make sure the meringue topping goes to the edges,

just seals it.

Now, smooth the top gently, I don't want to pull the jam up.

And then the bit I really enjoy...

..which is roughing it up a bit...

..so it has glorious, swirly peaks.

I want to sprinkle...

I've got a little sugar left here just to sprinkle over.

And when it bakes,

the meringue is so light and soft and white within,

and the surface is beginning to turn where the sugar catches in the oven,

the palest copper beginning to crisp.

Al forno!

-Here we are.

-Pudding!

-Queen of Puddings!

Wow, that looks amazing.

-Right, who's first? You?

-Yes, please.

Heavens. Thank you.

Mmm!

-Amazing.

-Look at that.

-Ooh, I love it with the brioche.

-It's really good.

Can I take a chewy bit?

I think everyone's got a cupboard a bit like this under the stairs.

METAL CLANGS

I'll clear it up later but anyway... Maybe not this bad!

It started off life as my baking cupboard, so various tins

that I use on special occasions,

and I don't want to clutter up my kitchen.

And then it became a repository of items that I bought for some

special occasion I dreamt would happen and never have.

For example, an electric crepe-maker in pristine condition,

look, ready to swirl.

And then folding my crepes.

And I bought it when my children were really quite teeny

and now they're in their 20s.

Yet to be used, but I live in hope.

And right now, oh, yes.

TINS CLATTER

Right now, I need this.

I will be clearing it up.

Ah, the perils of online shopping.

Now, obviously, in the middle of the night I felt the need to order

a guacamole dish.

You might well ask why and

I seriously wouldn't be able to answer you.

Anyway, for some reason it lingers on.

Now, I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that I have bought a

spiralizer attachment.

I read recently that the two things that are donated most frequently

to charity shops are Dan Brown novels and spiralizers.

While you will never find me making zoodles or courgetti

or fashioning any other vegetable to masquerade as pasta,

I have found that the spiralizer

really does make great shoestring fries.

Right, I'm going to get this out of the way.

Before I spiralize my potatoes,

and there's a verb I never thought I'd use,

I need to perform a little surgery on them.

This needs a flat bottom.

Unattractive in a person, very necessary for this procedure,

and then I impale.

This is going to be a challenge to my dexterity. Here goes.

This goes in here.

And...fasten it on properly.

This does look rather like a crossbow, rather alarmingly so.

Blade in, if I can.

And I can.

Bring this closer to squeeze it in.

And I'm locked, I'm loaded and it's full speed ahead.

E pur si muove!

I'm going to spud up again.

Right, I'm going to dismantle this...

..before I can do any further harm.

I need to separate the curls slightly.

And they need to be patted dry with a clean tea towel.

I don't want any liquid before I deep-fry them.

Right, I think these are dry enough.

They'll just splutter if they go in wet to the oil,

and we don't want that.

I've got hot oil here.

POTATOES SIZZLE

Ah, the most glorious sound.

These won't take long to cook so I've got my plate ready. And I've

covered it with a bit of kitchen towel so I can dab these down

for ultra-crispness.

Right, I need this, which is a cross between a basket and a ladle.

Ah, beautiful golden tangle.

All important, just want to remove the paper.

And sprinkle over-excitedly with sea salt.

I'm going to crunch my way through these very happily.

There is no elegant way to eat them and that's in their favour.

SHE SNIGGERS