Episode 1 Simply Nigella

I don't believe it's possible to live well without eating well,

and of course this means different things on different days.

But whatever the day,

I want food that makes me feel good not just when I'm eating it...

..but when I'm cooking it too.

That's a big heap of gorgeousness there.

Simply Nigella is about dishes that do just that.

Recipes that relax and restore...

..uplift and enrich.

And that's perfect.

Food I've enjoyed with family and friends...

-Mmm.

-Amazing.

..as I've settled into my new kitchen and where I am in my life right now.

Come with me, if you will, to the dark side -

and I mean dark.

I believe with all my heart that what and how we cook

can make us feel better and more alive.

-Mmm.

-Wow. Absolutely delicious.

And for me, a meal, however simple, is a celebration of life,

and life is there to be celebrated.

I think little rituals are so important in life,

and a special one of mine is a weekly jaunt to a favourite shop

where I pick up one or two things,

but always a particular loaf of bread

that forms the basis of a breakfast I eat more than any other.

This loaf has a name I love saying - dinkelbrot.

In other words, German spelt bread.

Its nuttiness and heft makes it the perfect partner

for the delicate, smooth flesh of avocado.

I'm fully aware that avocado toast isn't a recipe,

but it's part of the fabric of my life.

I'm ready to eat it no matter what the time of day,

but I have to say it comes in particularly handy

for breakfast on those days when you fear that lunch

may be later than you'd like.

I like Hass avocados not least because it's easiest with these

to tell whether they're ripe or not

because the dark green skin, that sort of crocodile skin,

goes a purply black.

This is one of my favourite bits -

the sound I get when I scrape that last bit of avocado.

I love that buttery green flesh on the inside

and that slightly brighter green by the skin.

If I'm eating this at supper,

I like the heady aniseed flavour of coriander,

but at other times of day

I like its more delicate cousin, dill.

I think part of the point of avocado is that smoothy-rich blandness,

but I need salt with that.

Just as important for me,

I always have to have a squeeze of lime.

I know it's breakfast, but let's put a bit of fire in the engine -

some dried chilli flakes.

And my latest development in avocado toast experimentation,

some ginger for extra pep.

This is my favoured method for peeling ginger,

just with tip of the teaspoon.

And a little sedentary grating.

Don't mind me while I mash.

My toast of choice is ready and waiting and I can pile this on.

I'm all about the pink and green at the moment

and I have some breakfast radishes to crown my avocado toast with.

Just is never a bad thing to start the day

with something so beautiful.

MUSIC: Uptight (Everything's Alright) by Stevie Wonder

As much as I derive pleasure from the taste and beauty of food,

I want the entire process from inspiration to empty plate

to make me happy...

Mmm, perfect.

..whether it's a spiced cauliflower and chickpea salad for one...

..a fragrant cake to share...

..or a messy lamb feast for my family and friends.

But above all, I relish how the ideas for my recipes

are so often a result of joyous encounters

with people or places.

One of the things that has galvanised and inspired me

in the kitchen recently

was a holiday I took to Thailand last year.

I'd been looking forward to it so much and it didn't disappoint.

I wish I could say that

my travel notebook was full of profound thoughts,

but that would be a lie.

All I did was stare at the sea and the sky

and eat.

The markets there are so beautiful

and so full of slightly different unfamiliar produce

that just made me long to cook.

It's also where my fixation with pink and green started

and it continues apace.

Hmm.

I think the best that can be said about this photo

is that it shows that happiness trumps good hair.

Apart from the fact that this is a very bad photograph,

what this reminds me of is the wonderful noodle dishes

I ate while I was there.

Every day something a bit different but always so fresh and vibrant

and full of flavour.

Ah, and this.

I ate something which was a noodle dish

with cinnamon and prawns,

and I know it sounds really, really odd,

but it was extraordinary.

I've never eaten anything like it

and I knew I couldn't leave Thailand without the recipe.

I've been alive a long time,

and when it comes to eating I've spent that time wisely and well,

so it's not often I come across something

that tastes so different to anything I've eaten before.

This is a stir-fry, comforting and familiar.

Warm with ginger and hot with garlic.

When I first ate this,

it was cooked by a chef called Tum,

spelt, or rather transliterated, T-U-M.

Very gratifying.

And he used Chinese celery,

which is really mostly thin stalk and a lot of leaf.

So, what I do is I use what I think of as the shoots

from a leafy stick of celery,

which I chop none too fastidiously, you'll be shocked to hear.

And what the celery gives is an anise flavour

but with herbal freshness.

Now comes the same, but bringing base - star anise.

And, as if to amplify the star anise,

some cinnamon crumbled in in shards.

I'm making a base for the prawns to cook in,

so on top of those spices, some dark soy sauce.

Steady with this.

And on top of that, some light soy sauce,

or thin, this is called, this Thai version

with a fantastically fat child on it.

A small dollop of oyster sauce for richness.

And - don't faint - some ready-ground pepper.

I never thought I'd see the day

when I used school pepper in my cooking,

but this really works.

Now some water.

Chicken stock concentrate.

I never feel bad about using stock that isn't home-made.

Chef Tum used chicken powder

and that's the nearest thing I can get to it.

And then some ketjap manis, which is like sweet soy ketchup.

And into this bubbling brown liquid go the prawns.

Wouldn't we all like to pop out to the local market

to pick up some fresh, plump prawns and then stroll back down the beach?

A large sun hat for me.

But if I didn't think these frozen prawns worked here,

I certainly wouldn't be cooking with them.

Some of the sweetness of the prawns goes into this brown liquor

and those deep spices cling to the prawns.

And in go some glass noodles, cooked and drained.

And stand back while I toss this together.

I've always thought of Thai cooking as sprightly and sharp...

..but there's something about the darkness and depth of this

which is exciting.

And now a startling punch of ground cloves...

..and a pinch of ground cinnamon.

Now, obviously none of these ingredients is new,

but it's how they're used in a particular way

that makes them taste so different,

and that is the essence of what cooking is.

This is Thai seafood as you've never tasted it.

MUSIC: Too Busy Thinking About My Baby by Marvin Gaye

A tawny tangle of noodles...

..and these golden prawns.

I rather love the shards of cinnamon going through it.

Obviously, they're not to be eaten.

The final touch -

the leaves from the shoots of the celery.

A friend of mine's father said if it goes in it,

it's got to go on it.

I said at the beginning that a stir-fry

was comforting and familiar,

but what this is is comforting and unfamiliar.

I really wish I had a megaphone right now,

because my enthusiasm for lamb ribs is evangelical.

Not only are they the least expensive way

of eating lamb,

but the thing is, they are the most luscious.

Hi. Can I have the lamb ribs, please?

Lamb ribs are cut from the breast

and I lived on breast of lamb when I was a student.

I used to braise them in one piece all the time.

Now I go for the ribs which I roast with cumin seeds and nigella seeds,

and I can tell you it's the way forward.

-Thank you.

-Thank you.

Because I want to keep the flavour of lamb ribs to the fore,

I'm not coating them in a sticky glaze

cos this is really about the marriage between spice and meat.

I start with nigella seeds.

I mean, if you have a spice with the same name as you,

it's a bit rude not to use it.

Their slight lemon-scented pepperiness

is boosted by the glorious pungency of cumin.

Hard for me to have lamb without cumin.

The fat on the ribs means I need only a little oil,

just to help the spices stick to them.

To highlight the sweetness of the meat,

the saltiness of some soy sauce.

All I need now is some garlic - quite a bit of garlic.

Just mince them in.

So, all I do is smoosh the ribs in this scant mixture

just so they're glossed with conker-shiny liquid

and freckled with spices.

Because they're a fatty cut,

I roast them on a tin with a wire rack

so all the excess fat drips down,

but still it's that fat which gives them all the flavour

and that lip-smacking stickiness.

You certainly need a lot of napkins when you eat these.

I was recently told that

the literal translation of nigella seed in Arabic

is 'seed of blessing',

which seems entirely right for any sort of meal.

I cook these in a low oven

just till the meat is tender and the fat crisp.

With these, I make my feta and avocado salad

and I drape both avocado and feta in red onions

which I am steeping in red wine vinegar.

And what this does is take out the acrid burn of the onion.

I can't eat raw onions any other way.

And by the time I'm ready to make the salad,

these strips will have turned a beautiful lambent puce.

Inspiration for this salad comes from my sister Horatia,

who often serves chunks of feta sprinkled with nigella seeds.

Call it family solidarity.

My version builds on this, adding avocado.

The soft creaminess contrasts beautifully

with the saltiness of the cheese.

A scattering of pomegranate seeds provides fruity tang.

And then those lucent strips of onion

altogether so prettily pink and green.

Finally, a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil.

Along with some warm flatbread,

this is all the accompaniment the lamb ribs need,

and I'm ready for my sister and her lot to descend.

-Here we are. Ribs!

-Oh!

Your fave, 'Rachy.

Oh, divine.

Ella, that's for you.

Lovely. Mmm.

Oh, these look fantastic.

And I'll just do mine.

I'm going to just dig in, I'm afraid.

Oh! These are so good.

Mmm!

I'm smearing nigella seeds all over my cheek,

but I feel I'm entitled.

You are.

I always find baking both uplifting and calming.

My apricot and almond cake is no flamboyant creation

with fancy decoration,

but that's precisely why I'm drawn to it.

As it cooks, it wafts the fragrance of rose water and cardamom

and fills the place with serenity-inducing scent.

Instead of soaking the apricots overnight

in a bowlful of cold water,

I simmer them briefly in a scant amount of liquid

and two cardamom husks,

and then I let them get cold, which doesn't take long.

But this is more than a short cut.

What it does is it plumps up the apricots

and infuses them with cardamom at the same time.

These are for the top of cake.

It's about as near to crafts as I get.

And you can probably see why.

The rest of the apricots, the seeds from the cardamom pods

and this scant amount of syrup go into the processor.

Every last bit.

This is an apricot and almond cake and I use ground almonds -

200g of them - instead of flour,

thus making this gluten-free and dairy-free, inadvertently.

To add a bit of bite and glorious goldenness,

50g of fine polenta - not instant.

And some sugar - 150g.

Not too much sugar, because there's a sweetness from the polenta

and the ground almonds.

Got a teaspoon of baking powder.

Six eggs.

These help the cake to rise...

..and lend moisture.

And now we blitz.

Add the magic touch.

The thing about lemon is that it really brings out other flavours.

Two teaspoons.

And a final fragrant addition, some rose water.

Thing about rose water is

a small amount and it's full of exotic promise,

and too much and it's your great aunt's bubble bath.

So, one teaspoon only.

And then we blitz again.

MUSIC: Two Lovers by Mary Wells

This is a 20cm spring form and I've lined it and greased the sides

and I let the batter just flow in.

A few quick bursts of unchallenging activity

and the batter is made and the oven takes care of the rest.

And now time for my modest artistic endeavour.

I'm encircling the cake with apricots.

This needs about 40 minutes in a 180-degree oven.

Once the oven's worked its magic and while the cake is still warm,

I glaze it with some apricot jam that's been made more spreadable

by a spritz of lemon juice.

Then to finish, a scattering of finely chopped pistachios.

And the gleaming goldenness of the cake

and the tender green of the pistachios

make this a thing of simple beauty.

Warm spiced cauliflower and chickpea salad

is one of my favourite simple suppers.

It relies on those two basic ingredients,

but transforms them.

I want the cauliflower in small florets

or as small as the constraints of my patience will allow.

I can't take much credit for this transformation

because it's all down to the warm spices

and the heat of the oven.

It's just bit of regular olive oil.

And now the spices.

Just a little cinnamon

to evoke the sweetness of a balmy night in Morocco.

I'm going to be a bit heavier-handed with the cumin,

a spice that's irresistible to me.

I want to disperse the spices in the oil

to stop them clumping in the oven later.

And now in these go.

The oil is just enough

to help the spices stick to the cauliflower

and to stop the cauliflower from drying out in the oven.

Roast cauliflower is a glorious thing.

It doesn't hurt either

that there's very little washing-up involved.

Right, this goes into a hot oven - and I mean hot.

I don't need to wash this up.

I just add the cauliflower's partner in crime -

some chickpeas.

You can use canned chickpeas too, but the ones in jar are really lush.

And to these I want the heat of harissa -

Moroccan chilli paste.

I'm dolloping in quite a lot

because both the cauliflower and chickpeas

can withstand a bit of fierceness.

I love way the tomatoes almost ooze into a dressing

in the heat of the oven.

The cauliflower has already lost its Victorian pallor

and things are really going to brighten up for it now.

Love having an implement in each hand.

Makes me feel busy but in an unchallenging way.

And this goes back in

just so the cauliflower cooks a little more.

The chickpeas are already cooked

and the wonderful thing about the oven's heat

is that the cauliflower will soften but it doesn't get soggy.

I'm grabbing a hefty amount of parsley

because I don't want it as mere decoration

but as the salad leaf itself.

I know there's quite a lot here - not that it's stopped me before -

but this is fantastic cold as well.

Packed lunch tomorrow.

Little salt.

And some gorgeous...

ruby jewels of pomegranate.

And a final flourish of parsley.

I find this sort of cooking just the perfect way to decompress,

and I am going to continue my relaxation programme with this.

-Action.

-Everything's got to be smooth.

-GLASS CLINKING

-Action.

METALLIC CLANGING

UTENSILS RATTLING

Action.

I've been told that the literal translation in Arabic

for nigella seed is 'seed of blessing',

which I rather like.

SHE LAUGHS

Maybe that's going too far.