Episode 3 Simply Nigella

MUSIC: For Once In My Life by Stevie Wonder

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

Now, 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.'

And a deep, deep joy awaits.

'Simply Nigella is about dishes that do just that.

'Recipes that relax and restore...

'..uplift and enrich...'

That's what I wanted to see.

'Food I've enjoyed with family and friends

'as I've settled into my new kitchen

'and where I am in my life, right now.'

I believe with all my heart

that what and how we cook can make us feel better and more alive.

Wonderful.

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

and life is there to be celebrated.

The start of the working day

understandably calls for a speedy breakfast,

but the weekends can make way for something a little more leisurely.

I will never turn my back on familiar favourites,

but sometimes I want to branch out and give them a fresh twist.

I wouldn't be able to count the number of pancakes I've made

in over two decades as a parent,

but these oat pancakes are the house specialty at the moment.

Instead of flour, I'm using porridge oats - not instant -

that I've blitzed up in a processor, with about two pinches of salt.

It's not a fine flour.

It's a bit mealy, but it's a flour nonetheless.

That's 100g there.

And on top of these, a teaspoon of baking powder

and a teaspoon and a half of ground cinnamon.

And the ground cinnamon really makes the oats taste so toasty and warm.

Have a little stir...

..and then get on with the rest of the ingredients,

which are pretty simple.

This is 100ml of milk. Now actually, I'm using oat milk.

It seems to enhance the oats themselves.

Just one egg...

..and a teaspoon of vanilla paste or extract.

I rather like this dark, heavily scented gloop.

A little whisking.

Nothing too strenuous...

..with a bit of spilling.

As with all pancakes,

it's what you eat with them that really makes for the magic

and with these oat pancakes,

I make a gloriously rubied honey and raspberry sauce.

It's 150g of raspberries

and I want 150g of honey.

Beautiful, that amber ooze...

Frankly, by the time the raspberries have thawed, the sauce is made.

I have to say, that what with the oats

and the raspberries and the honey,

these pancakes have a distinctly Scottish feel -

and I can't help feeling that a wee nip of whisky

somewhere along in the mix would be a good thing.

That makes me very happy.

Now, a little oil on the griddle.

And I know it looks like I'm just wiping it off,

but I am actually leaving the faintest smear.

And I'm ready to roll.

To dollop the batter on, I like a quarter cup measure,

not filled to the brim.

You can tell when it's time to flip pancakes over,

because little bubbles appear on the surface.

So, can you see? There are little bubbles now...

..and the edges are a teeny bit darker.

Lovely.

I have to say,

I couldn't have got away with these when my children were little,

but these days, I cater to a slightly more mature crowd.

I've got enough mixture left for another batch,

but for now, I'm pleasing myself.

How could a day not be good, that begins with this?

MUSIC: Nowhere To Run by Martha Reeves and The Vandellas

There are those who believe

that to fiddle in any way with a classic recipe

is an act of desecration.

Well, it's not a dishonourable stance,

but I think it's a flawed one.

The classics, in food as in literature,

are the very forms that can withstand and, indeed,

spawn a plethora of interpretations -

although I think this slim '60s version of Jane Eyre

may be taking it too far.

I had to buy it for the cover.

Anyway, I can't apologise for taking liberties with a Caesar salad,

when the outcome is so pleasurable.

Even a riff on a Caesar salad needs to start with anchovies.

Or it does, as far as I'm concerned.

After the fierce saltiness of the anchovies,

a hit of garlic.

And some olive oil will help these flavours go further.

Anchovies, garlic, romaine lettuce, or what we used to call "cos".

So far, so classical.

But this is my radical step.

It's a question of context.

I half the lettuce...

..and I wilt it in a hot oven.

First, I'm going to spoon over the anchovy and garlic.

I always like roasting in a very hot oven,

so luckily, this won't take very long.

Instead of fiddly little croutons,

I go for a large croute in the form of a slice of toast,

drizzled with olive oil, to be munched alongside.

Ah, the scent is glorious.

You see, it's beginning to wilt and I love these charred pieces.

In fact, I have to say, roast or baked lettuces are a wondrous thing.

I want some lemon juice and zest.

The zest is where all the flavour lies.

What you get from the juice is brightness and sharpness.

A spritz of this and I'll pop it back in, while I tend to my egg.

And I'm frying it.

Always a good move.

"Eat topped with a fried egg" are words I always want to hear.

And now, for a little artistic strewing.

I suppose this riff, in a way, is like a little culinary joke,

but it is so seriously good.

MUSIC: Tally Ho! by JR Walker and The All Stars

Can I have 600g of those, clean weight? Of course you can.

They look so beautiful. I love the tentacles. Aren't they lovely?

They're like little frilly dresses.

I'll clean those. Thanks.

I've got a Greek-inspired supper tonight.

First, I've got my new, absolute favourite way of cooking squid.

Greek squid and orzo.

Oh, I'd love some. Amazing!

And for pudding, a rapturous combination of filo, feta and honey.

The thing is, both these are utterly glorious to eat,

but so relaxing to make.

'I get going with pudding first, and my Old Rag Pie,

'which is the relaxingly slapdash work of mere moments.

'I'm using frozen filo, which I've thawed.

'The first step is to line the tin with a sheet or two of filo.

'Then. I pour in a spoonful of melted butter...

'..and now, you'll see why it's called "Old Rag Pie".

'Tear and scrunch up a sheet of pastry and drop it in the tin

'and repeat until you have a loose layer of filo rags.

'In some ways, I think of this as a kind of Greek cheesecake.

'Crumble some feta over the top of the filo rags...

'..a scattering of grated Parmesan...

'..and then, I sprinkle over some fresh thyme leaves

'and pour over some more melted butter to finish the layer off.

'And then, I do the same again.

'So, filo, feta, Parmesan, thyme and butter.

'Old Rag Pie was invented by Greek bakeries

'as a way of using up old scraps of filo,

'which means you don't have to be anxious about

'the fine pastry drying out as you go.

'For the third and final layer, I use larger filo rags,

'filling the tin a little more tightly

'before folding over the edges...

'..and giving a final drizzle of butter.

'Now, using the sharp point of a knife,

'make two cuts down...

'..and two across.

'Pour over some eggs and milk, beaten together.

'Finally, I scatter over a few more thyme leaves

'and some sesame seeds.

'Leave it to sit for a good 30 minutes

'before going into the hot oven for another 30 minutes.

'That hour leaves you free.

'Once it's ready, it'll be golden and puffed up

'and all it requires is an amber ooze of honey on top.

'But before we come to pud, there is squid -

'and it is sensational and so simple to make.'

Countless recipes start with an onion,

but I prefer the sweeter, gentler tones of a banana shallot.

If banana shallots elude you, you could always use a small, red onion.

These just need to be cut into chunky half-moons.

This is so joyously easy-going.

It's all about flavour, not finesse.

A bit of fennel...

Halve it.

Try and remove the core.

And as for the rest, just chop it - tubey bits and all.

And a couple of cloves of garlic.

Not minced or anything, just squished,

so I can get the skins off.

And the thing about garlic is that when you mince it,

it's really strong and hot,

but when it's squished like this,

it's mellow and sweet.

I wouldn't normally cook with extra virgin olive oil,

but because the temperature is so low throughout,

it doesn't lose its fabulous flavour.

Into the pan with this mixture.

Ah, I love those colours.

And here is the joy of this -

the squid goes in just as it is, not chopped.

Tentacles, always fabulous.

There are really two ways to go with squid.

You either cook it quickly at a high heat,

or go low and slow and this is low and slow.

And because the fennel and the squid both give out quite a bit of liquid,

really, this is about softly braising, rather than frying.

So, you can see now that the tentacles are beginning to curl

and have turned a wonderfully rosy terracotta at the edges

and the body of the squid has lost its translucency.

So, on with the dance.

Some orzo pasta...

..and a can of tomatoes.

A good squirt of tomato puree,

just to boost the tomatoey-ness.

And whenever I use canned tomatoes,

I always swill out the tin with water.

Get every last drop.

And in it goes.

Little souvenir from a holiday, splosh of ouzo.

Don't be alarmed by this, or by the fennel.

Even those who profess aniseed antagonism love this.

And if you don't have ouzo, you could use vermouth.

I'd be happy with red or white.

It's important not to season at this stage,

not least because any salt added now would toughen the squid.

When this bubbles, I'm going to put it in a low oven

for about an hour and 20 minutes, by which time

the orzo will have absorbed all the liquid and be quite sticky.

And this squid will be so soft,

I'll be able to cut into it just with this wooden spoon.

And lo, it bubbles!

So, clamp on a lid

and into the oven.

The moment of truth.

That's everything I wanted to see.

Now, it needs some water.

Need to give it a good, but gentle stir...

..and the important thing is to get all the sticky bits from the bottom.

There's so much flavour in those bits.

According to Terry Pratchett, burnt sticky bits were a food group.

And since I didn't season before, it's time to go hardcore now -

but let's taste.

Needs quite a bit of salt.

Some pepper...

Mmm, perfect.

Going to have to stop myself from eating it all now.

Got a forest of dill.

We can have some more on the table when we eat,

but for now, just stir this in and put it back in the oven

just for ten minutes, with the lid off.

A bowl of this with a crisp, green salad -

food for the Greek gods.

Mmm. Wow.

You recognise this?

Looks delicious.

Hmm, there's a good bit here. Oh, it smells divine, doesn't it?

Be honest! LAUGHTER

Nice to know.

Now, has everyone got tentacles?

I don't. Oh, my God. I'm going to give you a tentacle.

Oh, thank you. Oh, the nice bit.

Ooh, the corner!

Now, I've got corner envy.

You've got an edge. I gave you an edge!

Your brain doesn't know quite what's going on.

It's like, "What's going on?" My brain knows it's good. Yes.

I always adore feeding people,

but I really cherish the sort of food I make myself, too.

A rice bowl - please forgive the trendy term -

is one of my go-to recipes, or rather, non-recipe recipes.

Every time I make it, I add something different,

depending on what's to hand.

Now, a rice bowl is generally a bowl of rice

that is topped with an array of vegetable ingredients.

I like to keep it rather simpler.

I do need short grain brown rice.

It has nubbiness and nuttiness,

but not that jaw-aching endless chew of long grain brown rice.

I also need raw, unfiltered apple cider vinegar

and some mixed seeds and I'm off.

The rice has had 25 minutes simmering

and now, I'm just going to let it stand for a few minutes.

Perfect, it's absorbed the liquid.

And that's the thing about short grain brown rice.

It takes so much less time to cook than long grain brown rice.

And now, I'm going to get on with my few but choice ingredients.

Ginger.

As you can see, I like a lot of ginger.

But there's something else I should have told you about the rice.

Normally, there's a fixed rule with cooking rice.

You need one cup of rice and two cups of water.

You always have to go by volume.

But with the short grain brown rice,

I need one cup of rice and then, a cup and a half of water.

It works perfectly for me.

Right, some radishes.

I adore the peppery juiciness you get from radishes,

as well as the crunch.

I tend to quarter these. Sometimes I cut them into eighths,

depending on how much slicing I want to do.

Bit of coriander. Want some leaves whole and some just chopped.

I make this when I have a girlfriend coming over,

or if I have a wonderful, quiet time to myself.

Makes me feel very Zen.

The rice should be ready now

and all the ingredients can be mixed together.

When I say "all", not that many.

Scrape it out of my little pink pixie pan.

I'm not normally much of a vinegar person,

but I find that raw apple cider vinegar

has a fresh sourness - really sprightly.

Just need a bit. Obviously, it's to taste.

Bit of saltiness from soy.

I like quite a lot of seeds in this.

I've got pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds, flax seeds and sesame seeds.

They add crunch and really boost the rice, as well.

And I want to tumble in my exuberantly-coloured radishes...

..and some of the chopped coriander.

Ah. Let's have a little mix up again.

Beautiful.

And I love eating ginger in strips,

just using a vegetable peeler.

You get so much heat this way.

Good in stir-fries, as well.

And on top of my bowl of deeply-flavoured nubblyness,

I like the smooth, cool, jade clay of an avocado.

Beautiful slices of avocado.

I'd only ever come across these rice bowls in California,

but now they seem everywhere here and I can see why.

I like to top this with a few delicate coriander leaves.

It's both calming and uplifting just to look at, as well as to eat.

And I shall try not to rupture this mood of serenity

by shovelling this down too rambunctiously,

but it's hard not to!

MUSIC: Tell Me It's Just A Rumour Baby by The Funk Brothers

DIRECTOR: Action!

I appear to have difficulty putting lids on pans.

What do I do now?

DIRECTOR: Action! That makes me very happy.

Where am I going to put this?

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