Episode 6 Nigella: At My Table

CHATTER

-This is very delicious.

-Yeah.

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.

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.

Mmm!

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.

Bitter radicchio, salty blue cheese, sweet chestnuts -

this is an essentially wintry salad

that I eat very happily all the year round.

I just want to tear these ruby leaves into bite-sized pieces.

Normally when I make a salad, I just

add a glug of extra virgin olive oil,

a spritz of lemon juice and a sprinkling of sea salt flakes,

but this is a special salad and it deserves a special vinaigrette.

And it really deserves star-billing in its own right.

It's become, in a way, my house dressing.

It starts off aromatically and astringently with orange juice -

freshly squeezed - and I want two teaspoons.

And after that, the same amount of lime juice.

I'm giving you the measurements

because it's actually very helpful to know the ratio.

And now I want a teaspoon of grain mustard.

And a teaspoon of honey.

I'm using a tablespoonful of olive oil,

just ordinary olive oil, not extra virgin.

I'm not using extra virgin,

because I want a teeny drop of toasted sesame oil.

It's got such a strong, nutty flavour,

it really wouldn't be worth using extra virgin olive oil.

A teeny pinch of salt, because, remember, the blue cheese is salty.

And now, a bit of a shake.

And before I do anything else, I'm going to dress the salad,

just as it is.

It may not look like a lot of dressing,

but the trick is to toss it patiently, and take your time.

And, in fact, often when I'm a bit impatient and go too fast,

I add too much dressing and end up with an overdressed salad.

Time for the chestnuts, which I'm very glad to say I buy like this,

peeled and vacuum-packed.

I don't cook them myself and peel them very painfully like my mother

always did, and very bad-temperedly, too.

Just crumble them in.

Such an underused ingredient.

This salad is also very good with walnuts in place of them.

Ah, but nothing can substitute for the blue cheese.

It doesn't really matter what blue cheese you use,

as long as it's sharp and crumbly rather than too creamy.

This is Gorgonzola, a real treat.

And normally, I wouldn't condone

putting cheese like this in the fridge,

but it has to be cold or I wouldn't be able to crumble it.

Right, I'm going to toss this together again.

So...

..the little bits of chestnut and the nuggets of blue cheese

are dispersed throughout the salad.

I make this an awful lot when I have people over, but I have to say,

as a solo treat, it is unparalleled.

I want some seafood, mama,

and this is a dish that always delivers.

My mussels with tomatoes and pasta is really rather like a rich red and

Italianate moules mariniere studded with stubby pasta.

I like to use ditalini, or ditaloni.

You can use macaroni - I won't punish you for it,

but there's something fantastic about this shape with the mussels.

They're sturdy, but they're small.

I just want to warm some oil - just regular olive oil.

And slice these cherry tomatoes across the equator.

When I was younger,

I had such shuddering contempt for the combination of tomatoes and

seafood, but now I embrace the union.

The honeyed acidity of these cherry tomatoes provides a wonderful

balance to the silky umami depth of the mussels.

I know I chop slowly, but it doesn't really matter.

It matters in a restaurant when

you're feeding 60, but not just at home.

Add the tomatoes to the pan.

Now, they will splutter a bit, so I'm going to keep at arm's length.

Look at them spritzing jubilantly.

I just want them to soften.

You can see that as they ooze their viscous juices into the pan,

they're turning the oil an orangey colour.

And on top, I want some garlic.

I've got two cloves - just grate it straight on top.

And the reason why I cook the tomatoes first a bit

is that I don't want the garlic to burn and get bitter.

I want sweetness as well as heat.

And next, some chilli flakes, bought from a Malayan airport.

I know this is unconventional,

but it's just because I wear contact lenses and it'll be agony tonight

if I use my hands.

A little bit of salt, not too much -

because the mussels bring the salinity of the sea themselves.

And now a sloosh of red vermouth.

There's something about all vermouth, but particularly red,

that gives a near instant hit of slow-cooked flavour.

This can bubble up a bit just while I get the mussels.

Using a spider, just a wire mesh ladle,

just going to add them to the pan.

Now the mussels can steam in all that wonderful aromatic liquid.

Going to give it a bit of a shake.

And then, while I wait for them, I'm going to chop some parsley,

just roughly chopped.

I always love a bit of mezzaluna action - it's curiously therapeutic.

Perfect! The mussels have cooked and looking like baby birds

with their beaks open.

And actually, the pasta - yup, it is...

It could do with another minute, which is what it's going to get.

So in it goes directly.

The pasta, even though the heat is now off,

will carry on cooking and drinking up the winey, briny juices.

The starch from the pasta water thickens the liquid.

OK, I must leave it and, actually,

I could do with doing a bit of clearing up as I wait.

And that looks just lovely.

I like it when the bits of pasta nestle inside the shells.

A generous scattering of parsley.

Now, obviously you can eat this however you want,

but the way I think is best is first to eat these golden mussels,

and then slurp up the sauce-soused pasta.

I've got more or less all I need for supper,

but I'm just on the search for a few final ingredients.

When I come to a place like this,

I really have to try and practice uncharacteristic restraint,

because I always end up wanting one of everything in the shop.

Ah, it's all so beautiful, but I think I want this one - yeah.

I've got some girlfriends coming over and they have been very precise

about what they want me to cook for them,

so, by popular request, CHATTER

I am making my chicken, red grapes and marsala.

And afterwards, I'm giving them a deeply divine sunken chocolate

amaretto cake and, to be dolloped alongside, crumbled amaretti cream.

I need to get on with the cake ahead of time.

I want four large eggs and 125g of caster sugar,

and I whisk these together.

This is a flourless cake made with ground almonds.

I need 75g

and then two tablespoons of cocoa.

I just fork to mix.

Meanwhile, my eggs and sugar should be thick and moussey,

and at least doubled in volume.

Then I slowly add the almond and cocoa mixture.

I add three tablespoons of amaretto liqueur to melted dark chocolate and

butter, 100g of each, slightly cooled in a bowl.

Whisking gently now,

I pour this in a slow and steady stream into the batter.

The combination of ground almonds and amaretto

gives this rich chocolate cake a marzipaney depth.

When I've got what looks like a billowy chocolate mousse,

I pour and scrape it into a lined 20cm springform tin.

This needs 20-25 minutes in an oven preheated to 180 degrees.

When the cake's baked and cool,

I can set about supper in leisurely fashion.

A splosh of olive oil.

Full of mellow fruitfulness,

the oaky richness of marsala and the sweet-smelling woodsiness of thyme,

my chicken with red grapes manages that rare and wonderful thing,

which is to be elegant and cosy at the same time,

which makes it just right when the nights are drawing in.

The chicken I'm using are supremes,

and a supreme is the skin on chicken breast with the peg bones still

attached, and that bone makes the chicken so much juicier

and gives a lot of flavour.

I'm going to leave these here just for a short while

to help the skin get a bit golden,

and I'm going to get on with the sauce.

It's not very labour intensive.

I've got some chicken stock there and I'm adding some marsala,

gloriously amber coloured.

It's got an almost caramelly smokiness.

And into that,

I want some wine-tangy Dijon mustard.

I'll give it a little whisk here.

And the chicken juices will add to this in the pan.

And now, it's so unlike me to be putting grapes with chicken,

but the thing to remember is in fact what these grapes give

is a puncture of fruity sharpness.

They're not terribly sweet, or not sweet at all.

And along with the grapes,

I'm going to give a fragrant scattering of thyme.

So, let's see how this is doing.

Perfect. You see, they're starting to get gold.

They'll bronze up more in the oven.

And now, these golden juices.

I'm going to wait till the liquid comes to a bit of a bubble.

And once the grapes and thyme are in,

this just needs to go into a hot oven for about 20 minutes,

and the chicken will be juicy and cooked

and the skin bronzed and crisp.

And we're off.

Hold some back to sprinkle on later, but, ah!

Such beautiful autumnal colours.

Beautiful.

OK, mind your backs.

CHATTER

OK.

Jolly good. Yes.

THEY LAUGH

OK.

CHATTER AND LAUGHTER

I'm going to dunk some bread in - I highly recommend it.

I'm going to do a bit of a dippage.

Oh, yeah, that's good. It's good.

That's really good!

So, you can see why I call this my sunken chocolate amaretto cake,

and it leaves a rather pretty frill around the outside.

And I'm going to give this rich, squidgy-bellied cake

a velvety dusting of cocoa.

I want it thickly covered, like a bitter chocolate truffle.

And underneath this powdery Aztec brown,

its interior is dense and dark.

Now, actually, this cake is a twofold pleasure,

because with it comes my amaretti cream.

I've got 250ml of double cream here,

and I'm going to add a slug of amber amaretto liqueur,

answering the sweet song of the cake.

I'm going to whip this until it's thickened but still soft and floppy.

It doesn't take very long.

When I called this amaretti cream,

I meant amaretti cream, not amaretto,

because I'm now going to add some crumbled amaretti biscuits.

Just crumble them in.

Like the cake, they seem to have that balance

of bitterness and marzipaney sweetness.

Fold these in and the cream will thicken a bit more as I fold.

It adds an almost honeycomb crunch to the smoothness of the soft cream.

And that's exactly right.

I'm going to fill up an old favourite of mine.

And before I take this to the table,

I'm just going to add one final golden crumble.

-Wow!

-Right.

-Ooh.

That's the sound I want to hear.

That's very eager. THEY LAUGH

That's a good thing - I didn't mean to sound at all critical!

Oh, you're putting it on top - that's radical.

Looks beautiful. That's... Yes!

I think Claire's got a future as everything.

CHATTER

I want to know where you're going to put them now.

-Yeah, go on!

-I want one on top, I want one on top, come on.

Yeah.

Brilliant.

-So good!

-Excellent.

I'm getting... I don't know what I'm doing, I'm so excited.

-Mmm.

-I like the cream.

Yeah, the cream.

It's lovely, isn't it? I think the cream really makes it.

I love cake, but I think with the cream...

Could you make an amaretto ice cream?

You can make anything you want.

THEY LAUGH

You find me in the hot spot because

I'm after a bit of fire with my food.

I have quite a collection of hot sauces.

Now this one is Jamaican,

and it in fact has more of a heady sourness rather than heat and it's

great for marinades, so I don't need it now.

I've got this blueberry hot sauce,

which I thought would be tangy and fruity when I got it,

but not a bit of it.

I mean, I consider myself something of a fire eater but I have to warn

you that any more than a pinprick of this, fabulous though it is,

will leave your mouth numb for a week.

But I'm making my egg tortilla pie now and for that I want sriracha.

My egg tortilla pie is so much simpler than it sounds.

Instead of pastry, I use soft flour tortilla wraps.

I just want to oil the dish first

to make sure the bottom layer doesn't stick.

Help it crisp up.

And there we are. Here is the bottom layer, just eased into the bowl.

And I've got some ham to throw in.

But really, this is not a recipe.

I mean, it's just something I make when I'm too tired to cook

but I want to eat well.

So use whatever you have lying about the place.

But the one thing I always add are the eggs - just two -

cracked on top of the ham.

I'm adding cheese to this, so I don't want too much salt

but I cannot eat eggs unless there's salt on the yolks.

And now the cheese - again, any hard cheese you've got,

but I've got some palate-burningly strong cheddar here.

Just letting it fall on top here.

It has a kind of crystalline crumbliness.

And now, the top layer.

This makes me feel very, very artistic.

Just brushing on to make it nice and crisp when it goes in the oven.

So the roof goes on -

squeeze it in a bit.

Not pressing on the eggs and cheese, but just into the sides

and down to help seal it, like you were crimping a pie.

I've got some oil left, so I'm going to give a bit of extra here.

That will go really crunchy.

Now it thinks it's a pie.

It also thinks a bit that it might be a pizza,

so more cheddar on top.

And because of the crumbly texture of this particular cheddar,

I will get some lumps falling off as well as these ribbon flakes,

but that's just fine by me.

A bit more artistry coming up - the all-important hot sauce.

Jackson Pollock it in.

Well, that wasn't exactly work, and now all it needs -

about 15 minutes in a hot oven.

Crisp crust, soft-yolked eggs, salty ham and melted cheese,

it's got my name on it!