Episode 3 Nigellissima

When I'm in Italy, when I'm on holiday,

the first thing I do is go to

a market. And, of course, it's about the food,

but it's not just about the food.

It's the attitude as well.

-Buongiorno!

-Buongiorno.

-Posso prendere...?

-Si.

I really try and hold on to that when I'm at home,

because I really believe that if you bring that attitude to your cooking, and that enjoyment,

then that pleasure translates to the people who are eating what you've cooked,

and that makes me happy.

Ciao! Buongiorno!

And when I'm cooking for friends at home,

a favourite is roast pork loin rolled with Parma ham and oregano,

served atop a messy bed of rocket.

Alongside is my express take on a classic Roman dish

of artichokes, peas and beans.

If we're talking effortless but impressive,

you can't beat a pudding of frozen berries

blanketed with white chocolate and Limoncello sauce.

-Here we are!

-Lovely!

But when I want to bring

something delicious to the table just for myself,

a new favourite is my spelt spaghetti

with a no-cook olive and anchovy sauce.

If I ever have any time to myself,

which, believe me, is a pretty rare occurrence,

my ideal is a gentle stove-side pottering

followed by a languorous sweet eat.

I am ready for my sambuca kisses and, what's more,

they are the weekend brunch of my dreams.

Start off with just under half a tub of ricotta.

That's what keeps them light in part.

And I want one egg.

You don't really need to beat it in, just stir.

No challenges here.

I call them sambuca kisses for a reason.

The sambuca part is here.

Lots of people are put off this

cos it tends to be the first drink anyone ever gets drunk on.

They have sambuca kisses of a different sort,

but the slight breath of aniseed it gives really converts people.

And I call them kisses because what they taste like are...

doughnuts made not of batter, but of sweet air.

It is like the lightest, most fluttering caress in the mouth.

And to balance that,

I have orange zest - again, just about a teaspoon.

Oh! Here comes the sun.

Teaspoon of sugar, they're not terribly sweet.

And now, I need about an espresso cup-worth of flour...

..and a teaspoon of baking powder.

It's quite a lot for the amount of batter here,

but they puff up so gloriously.

And this is pretty well an instant mix.

And frying them takes under five minutes.

All very relaxing.

I find it makes life easier

to oil a teaspoon or, at least, dip it in oil

before using it to scoop out some of this golden batter.

And then, they just drop in. They puff up immediately,

a bit like toffee apples you get in Chinese restaurants,

only much lighter.

I like it when the round little kisses grow tails.

That's more crunch later,

so you have the gentle, soft interior, and then a bit of crunch.

Just going to turn them a bit in the oil.

There, they're crisp and tanned,

and they're coming out.

Right, I want my coffee on my tray,

I want the kisses on my plate.

Oh! They're so light,

they make frying feel celestial.

I'm being generous with some icing sugar,

which is one of the reasons I didn't add a lot of sugar

when I was making the mixture.

Oh, my goodness me!

I can't look at these without feeling hungry.

They are the perfect any-time treat.

I want them now.

There's not a type of pasta I don't love.

This larder is gratifyingly full of the stuff.

But recently, I've developed something of a pash for spelt spaghetti.

But, you know, there's nothing new under the sun

and spelt is, in fact, an ancient wheat.

It's robust, it's earthy, and it deserves a full-on sauce.

When I say a full-on sauce,

I am talking about flavour.

Effort is minimal.

My spelt spaghetti with olives and anchovies is a breeze.

In they go.

These hessian, woven strands.

It's a bit like wholewheat spaghetti, spelt spag,

only not quite as dense.

Now, the sauce.

No cooking involved.

Tumbling in of ingredients and a quick glitz.

Start off with some olives.

I prefer green,

but the only important thing is that they're pitted.

And anchovies.

This sauce is, at least, loosely based on pesto,

so after these fruits of the earth and the ocean, some pine nuts.

A good scattering.

Garlic too.

I love the punch you get from the salty anchovies and the olives,

but really, I need zing as well, and, for that,

I want a lemon.

And what's more, zest, as well as juice.

There's no point using just the juice,

because all the flavours lie in the zest.

Those aromatic oils.

I'm not going to worry unduly about getting the odd pip in the sauce.

Parsley is nearly always used as a garnish.

It's a horrible word, but that's what it is.

But when you use it as an actual ingredient,

you notice how strong it is, what flavour, full of iron as well.

Or that's what it tastes like to me.

I don't need salt, because of the anchovies.

However, I need oil, and quite a bit of it,

to help this emulsify

and become a sauce.

I'm ready to blitz.

Even though there are a lot of anchovies in here,

you'd be surprised how many anchovy-phobes like this.

And we're done!

Now, I admit, at this stage

it may not seem to have the wow factor,

but one taste and it's kapow!

Let's see how the pasta is.

It should be about ready. I'll have a quick check.

Let's go.

Mmm! Perfect, still with a bit of bite to it.

Before I drain the pasta,

I want to hive off some of the starchy cooking water,

as is my wont.

Anticipation.

Final blitz with my pasta water, just a bit of it.

It's like adding cream to a sauce, it's just magic.

And now, I'm excited, cos it's ALL coming together.

Pasta back in its pan, on top...

..a gloop of green sauce.

This spaghetti, that sauce, they are made for one another,

and for me.

This spelt spag is actually great cold as well.

So I'll leave some to eat cold,

but I think most now warm.

Herb-flecked and fragrant.

Since I do have some sauce left in here, not a lot,

but enough for a final anointing.

I hate waste.

I am happy, because I know its modest appearance

utterly belies its magnificence.

Mmm. Mmm!

I can't stop this!

-Posso prendere?

-Certo.

Grazie.

Even the memory of Italian markets provides constant inspiration.

Everyone's robust and joyful attitude towards food

is in my mind whenever I cook.

Never more so than when I'm making one of my extra special suppers,

roast pork loins served with broad beans, artichokes and peas,

and my mystery mock mash.

Going to unveil the pork properly in a minute,

but first, I have a little aperitif-accompanying morsel to attend to.

This is the crackling.

After it's had about half an hour in a really hot oven,

it'll be blistered bronze. And when it's at room temperature,

I'm going to splinter it into pieces,

arrange it on some small plates and sprinkle sea salt all over it.

Yum!

I've used a foil tin just because I don't want the extra washing-up.

And now, I am ready to roll.

This is just a bit of pork loin that's been derinded,

and you've seen what's happened to that, and opened out like a book.

I just ask the butcher to do it,

because I'm not very good at knife skills.

And, anyway, at supermarkets,

they will often do it for you now as well.

I'm flavouring this pork from within.

Start off with garlic.

I know that it's falling into clumps,

but I'll smooth it with a spatula later.

Mmm.

This is one of those recipes that looks quite complicated

when you see it in its finished glory, but it's very simple.

Next, some fresh oregano leaves.

I love this method of flavouring from within.

It means you really get it intensely.

And I'm leaving the stalks from these leaves to cook alongside,

to flavour any juices.

So now, I've got the heat of the garlic

and the meadow sweetness of the oregano.

On top, I am going for the honeyed saltiness of the Parma ham.

In fact, you could say going the whole hog.

Pig on pork.

Beautiful.

It makes the rolling up easier later on

if you lay these beautiful thin slices,

pink as a kitten's tongue, horizontally.

I'm intensifying the heat of the garlic

with the fieriness of some dried red chilli flakes.

It always makes me feel very Italian.

I am going to start rolling.

Try and roll it up tightly,

so you keep all the flavour in,

and it'll just curlicue out as it cooks.

Perfect.

When you get the pork, ask for a bit of butcher's twine at the same time

and don't feel that you need to be expert to do this.

When you've seen me tie it, in very inept knots,

you will feel reassured.

These are not proper knots. Terrible knots, in fact.

But that's... That's how I roll.

These need to be, I would say, at about four-centimetre intervals.

So we've got flavour running through it

and now, I need a little flavour platform to lie it on.

You can use onions, but I am a banana shallot freak,

so I'm slicing these.

No need to peel.

And then, you could arrange them on your roasting tray...

..and then scatter the stalks that you've got left over

from the leaves that are inside...

..and then sit this baby on top.

There, you lie there, my beauty.

A little drizzle of olive oil, regular olive oil.

And then when it's had about an hour and a quarter

in the hot oven,

it'll be golden on top and cooked inside.

The pork pretty much cooks itself from now on in.

I do need to spruce myself up a little.

But otherwise, first, I want to get on with my Roman braised vegetables.

They are a freezer standby.

Once in a while, I go shopping

and buy frozen artichoke bottoms, not hearts,

frozen broad beans and frozen peas

and keep my stash in the freezer.

I just tip the broad beans into a bowl

and cover them with boiling water from a kettle.

Just leave them for a while.

Then I tumble out the pale artichoke bottoms

onto a chopping board

and slice them thickly.

I go back to the broad beans

and what I like to do is squeeze each broad bean out of its shell.

If you just give them a bit of a push, the inner bean pops out.

So now, it's time to get on with the cooking.

I like to use a shallow casserole that's not very deep.

I put in it some olive oil, regular olive oil,

and a knob of butter, and let these warm.

Into the warm butter and oil,

I add the leaves, stripped from a few sprigs of thyme.

Such a wonderful scent, they give.

Into this, I clatter in a packet of frozen peas.

Now, I add the pale strips of artichoke bottoms

and give the peas and artichokes a stir.

Now, the bright green broad beans go into the pan and I add some salt,

good sea salt, and some white pepper as well.

I add a splash of dry white vermouth

and a splash of water.

And then I stir and wait for the vegetables to come to a bubble.

Once they are boiling, I turn them down

and clamp on a lid and let them braise for about 20, 25 minutes.

Easy-peasy.

Darling, I have to stop your story...

I'm going to get you to do this.

Thank you very much.

And it may not have...

THEY CHUCKLE

-Ciccioli, ciccioli.

-Which is?

-Ciccioli.

-Ciccioli, ciccioli.

-Pork scratchings.

-Pork scratchings, yes.

Italian pork scratchings.

-Oh, my God!

-Yes. Oh, my goodness me.

This is exactly how I want it - super-juicy and golden.

Now, THIS is an example of laziness rewarded.

I didn't peel the shallots and I never do,

and the reason why these juices are so deep and glorious and bronzed

is because it comes from the skins.

And now, the gravy continues to make itself.

Splash of dry white vermouth,

although do use white wine if you've got some open.

And another splosh of recently boiled water.

Let me just scritch about the pan a bit.

So I can leave that to rest and I am going to do my mock mash.

I am aware that the notion of mock mash sounds hideous.

This is fabulous.

I've got some warm milk here, not too hot, a bit of butter.

The reason why I call this mock mash

is because it tastes like mashed potato,

but no potato has been harmed in the making of this dish.

The crucial ingredient -

semolina.

Now, for those of us who had a lot of semolina pudding at school,

it sounds a bit spooky.

But actually, you know, if you think polenta, which we're used to,

it is just like that.

And I'm cheesing it up afterwards,

so it is very savoury and so good with this pork.

The authentic Italian version would add eggs,

and then let it get cold, and then cut out shapes.

But why do all that?

I want to grate a bit of nutmeg into here.

Lovely.

I'll turn this off, before it gets even thicker,

and whisk in the Parmesan.

I've grated it already, because they're a greedy lot over there.

It's ready for the bowl. I mean, it takes hardly any time.

Mmm.

You'd be surprised how many people eat this

and don't realise it isn't mashed potato.

A bit more nutmeg.

Now I'm ready for you, my beauty.

This is an easy job,

a few firm slices.

I want them to be fairly chunky, so they don't fall apart.

I love the way the unfurling of flavour

is also like the unfurling of the Italian flag -

the white of the pork,

the red of the chilli and the green of the oregano.

Tricolore pork.

So now these slices of pork can nestle in their garden.

So beautiful.

Somehow makes a roast look lighter, more exciting.

Not that there's anything wrong with a roast.

I don't want gravy-gravy.

At least, not in the English sense.

I'm far too Mediterranean this evening.

But I just would like to use these juices

to add gleam and liquid flavour.

Mmm, beautiful!

A bit of Renaissance polish.

And a tavola!

Oh, what's this?

-Pork loin with some oregano and some Parma ham.

-Wow!

-Lovely!

-I have some broad beans, artichokes and peas...

-Lovely.

..and some mash.

THEY CHATTER

Let me get you some pudding.

Now for my fabulous finale -

frozen berries with a Limoncello white chocolate sauce.

Cream in, heat on,

gently, gently.

Melting chocolate has to be cautious.

I want the almost eggy vanilla richness of the white chocolate

to ooze into the cream.

Sounds very sweet,

and it is.

But the berries are super-sharp and, besides,

THIS is what is changing this

from what's become something of a contemporary British classic

into an Italianate version - I add Limoncello.

Lemon liqueur from the Amalfi coast.

And this lemonyness really helps

with the sweetness of the white chocolate as well.

It's all about balance.

So much easier to acquire it in the kitchen than elsewhere.

So while this melts gently,

the berries can be clattered out onto the plate.

I do realise these are frozen, but they are intentionally so.

And a little dousing of Limoncello, just as the cream had.

Lemony gloss.

Now, the thing is this, as I pour over the hot sauce,

the icy berries begin to warm up slightly,

while staying really chilled in the middle,

and the sauce solidifies in the iciness of the fruit.

Mmm, utter rapture!

-Here we are!

-Lovely!

-I'm going to...

Since I have some flowers anyway...

They're still quite sharp and frozen inside.

OK, so it's both very sharp and very sweet.

That's really good.

Out of this world.

I am transported to the Italian seaside.

-GRATING

-Oh, lovely sound.

Look at these beautiful pink onions, they make my soul sing.

They would, if I had one!

MUSIC: "Tu Vuo Fa L'americano"

The inner bean, which is a vibrant beautiful green, pops out.

It's actually rather satisfying, a bit like squeezing spots.

Sorry!

SHE LAUGHS

OK!

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd