All language subtitles for Nigella.At.My.Table.S01E05.1080p.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-squalor

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, amici. Cheers.

Same to 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.

Oh!

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 make French toast so often.

I make cinnamon French toast,

I make orange French toast, I
make French toast with plums.

But, up till recently,

all my variations on a
theme have been sweet.

And I really felt the need
for a savoury version.

And my parmesan French toast

is so comforting when I get back
late at night, having unaccountably

missed my dinner, but it really
makes the perfect weekend breakfast.

I need just a handful
of ingredients for this.

And, this being parmesan French
toast, that's the next ingredient.

Very finely grated so that
the bread can absorb it.

I want a bit of heat.
Paprika gives me sweet heat.

Sometimes, I
need a bit more fire

and then I go for the cayenne,

and this brings its
glorious colour, as well.

And I want tang.

First, from some
worcester sauce.

And then from some
dijon, and the mustard

gives a much more
intense savouriness.

And I need this to be runnier

so that it's easier for
the bread to absorb,

so it means a
little bit of milk.

And I whisk it together.

I like to use sourdough
bread for this,

or anything that's
got a bit of bite to it.

But if you're using
normal bread,

then I'd advise you to
let it stale just a little.

And then, these slices

need to bathe in this sunny mixture,
just until they're soaked through

and soft, but not
falling to pieces.

These are ready
to be turned now,

and they can drink up the rest
of the eggy mixture in the dish.

I just want to spoon over

the last little bit of this
glorious golden mixture.

And I'm ready to get frying.

I want butter.

I certainly want butter, but
I want a bit of oil, as well,

just to stop it burning.

That's bubbling away cheerfully,

so I will lower in the
parmesan-soaked bread.

I favour a pair of
implements when cooking.

Let's see if it's ready to turn.

Yes, it is.

And while they cook on this
side, I'm just going to get my plate.

Not that I'm
impatient or anything.

As you can see, this is all
so gratifyingly simple to make.

And I could happily eat
it any time of the day.

I'm always happy to
eat my way to inspiration.

A traditional plain baked cheesecake
is a force for good in the world

and I wouldn't begin to deny it.

In fact, I can feel the weight of
disapproval of several generations

of eastern European antecedents
over the fact that I have been making a

cheesecake that is not baked,
just left to set in the fridge.

And moreover, it's got
white chocolate in it.

But I am neither repentant
nor defensive, and why

should I be when my white
chocolate cheesecake is just that good?

Instead of a regular
digestive base,

for this cheesecake,
I use gingernuts

and I put 175g of them in a
sturdy freezer bag, seal, and bash

them into crumbs with a
rolling pin. Very satisfactory.

I tip these into a bowl, pour
over 50g of melted, unsalted butter

and simply mix
together with a fork.

This damp, Sandy
mixture goes into a

20cm spring form tin.

I press down on it to form the
base, pushing up the sides a little.

This now just needs to go
into the fridge to firm up a bit.

So, the base is done and i'm

going to get on with the filling,
which starts with some cream cheese.

I am going to be quite
strict about this, which is,

the cream cheese
must be full-fat

and it must be at
room temperature.

If you disobey on either count,

you just won't get the requisite
tongue-kissingly smooth texture.

And that would be too
much of a disappointment

for any of us to bear.

Now, I've got 200g of white
chocolate that I've melted and I

just let it stand a bit

so that it's cooler but
you can see it's still liquid.

And this is white chocolate
made for cooking with,

because it melts more easily.

And you can see it's
flecked with vanilla.

I'm going to give
it a gentle fold.

It is an unorthodox way of
making a cheesecake, I do admit.

But I really think it's one of the
best cheesecakes I've ever eaten

and all white chocolate
haters are equally smitten.

It really is as easy
as one, two, three.

With 'one' being the cream cheese,
'two' being the white chocolate,

and 'three' being double cream,

300ml of it, lightly whipped.

I want it thickened but
not holding its shape.

And that's perfect.

In it goes.

And a gentle fold, yet again.

Nothing very strenuous here.

Now, I could stop
there but I won't.

There's vanilla in the
white chocolate as it is,

but it's been blanketed
somewhat by the double cream

so I'm going to add a
little more, just a teaspoon.

And although there is already a
bit of tang from the cream cheese, I

really think you need sharpness in a
cheesecake, so I've got lemon juice.

Again, just a teaspoon.

And then the
last bit of folding.

And the gingery base is ready.

I am going to softly dollop

the white chocolate
cheesecake filling on top.

Just trying to smooth the top.

And that's about as smooth
as someone as clumsy and as

impatient as me
is going to get it.

So, this needs to
set in the fridge.

Now, I do love this
plain and unadorned,

but it is utterly gorgeous
sprinkled with tender green-nibbed,

or else chopped, pistachios.

I'm making a bit of an eastern
mediterranean-flavoured feast

for supper and I'm giving my
friends some incredibly juicy

spiced lamb kofta,
and alongside,

there's warmed flatbread, an
eye-poppingly intense garlic sauce.

Some tomatoes I'm just going to
chop roughly with a bit of parsley,

and a luminescent magenta
tangle of quick-pickled onions.

Pudding is a joyous creation.

It's my Rose and pepper
pavlova with strawberries.

And it does sound
quite exotic but

actually, the influence for it
comes slightly closer to home.

Indeed, the inspiration comes
from my maternal grandfather, Felix.

Look, here is he,
very fresh-faced.

Just as fresh-faced on his wedding
day to my granny, Rosemary.

Now, he always ate his strawberries
with a grinding of black pepper -

or so my mother always said - it
was something of family folklore,

'cause I was only
seven when he died.

But I was inspired by that. But I
prefer to add it to the pavlova base

and pairing its perfumed warmth
just with a little rosewater, and it

gives that
marshmallow-bellied meringue

the huskiest hint
of Turkish delight.

I make my pavlova
base the night before.

First, I whisk six large egg
whites until they form firm peaks.

Then I very gradually
add 375g of caster sugar.

The key to getting a really
thick, glossy meringue

is to keep the whisk fast but
add the sugar really slowly.

Once all the sugar's
in and incorporated,

I sprinkle over 2.5
teaspoons of cornflour,

a 0.25-teaspoon of
ready-ground black pepper -

the sort that comes in tubs
- you know, school pepper.

Then I add two teaspoons
of white wine vinegar.

Finally and fragrantly,

a 0.5-teaspoon of rosewater.

And I gently fold in
everything by hand.

I draw a circle of roughly 22cm
onto a sheet of baking parchment.

This is just to guide me
as I dollop out the meringue.

Once I've blobbed the meringue
on the centre of my pencilled circle,

I use a small cranked spatula
to smooth the sides and top

of this voluminous
snowy expanse.

When the pavlova base is formed

and looks a bit like the crown

of a boater, it goes into an
oven preheated to 180 degrees.

But the moment it's in, I
immediately turn it down to 150

and bake it for an hour.

I'm making lamb kofta,
which are rather like

eastern mediterranean
meatballs in sausage form.

I've got some good
minced lamb in the bowl

and I'm grating in an onion.

Partly to give flavour, of course,
but also, because it tenderises

the meat, making these
koftas so wonderfully juicy.

And mix some
garlic, two fat cloves.

I want the garlic more finely grated
so that it almost turns into pulp.

Now, kofta actually aren't
just sausage shapes, they can

be burger-like patties as well,

but what makes them distinctive
is their emphatic flavouring.

And that's a lot of garlic.

Next, some earthy
cumin and coriander.

I want the headiness
of ground all-spice.

It is very intense,
so not too much.

And a favourite of mine in
the kitchen, unashamedly so,

some school pepper, that's to
say, ready-ground white pepper.

And this gives the heat of chilli
but with so much more flavour.

Salt, of course.

But it's the generous
amount fresh herbs

that give the kofta
so much exuberance.

A herbal hit of parsley

and fresh mint.

And get chopping.

They don't have to
be chopped too finely.

In these go. A beautiful,
heaping handful.

And I'm going to get stuck in.

So, I want to mix everything
together well but with a light hand.

I don't want the mixture to
become dense and compact.

Ahh, I should have
thought about doing

this before I got my
hands into the kofta mixture

but I want a dish
to put them in.

Ok. And now,
rollin' rollin' rollin'.

This is how I make them.

I just pinch out a
bit - a decent bit -

give it a squelch
in my hands, briefly,

and then roll to
a sausage shape.

Then roll again at
the ends to taper them

so I've got a little zeppelin.

And then, when it
goes in the dish, I just

want to flatten it a bit because
it'll make it easier to cook.

Traditionally, kofta are formed into
sausages around a skewer and then

cooked over flames, but I
so rarely used my barbecue,

I just cook these in
a frying pan instead.

These need to sit in the fridge
to firm up for a short bit and then,

while they're there, I
can de-kofta my hands

and get on with my garlic sauce.

I say 'sauce',

but all that's involved is
a little grating and stirring.

To a bowl of Greek yoghurt,

I add a generous
sprinkling of sea salt flakes.

Then I mince in a lot of garlic
- this sauce is heady stuff.

Now for the zest of a lemon.

Followed by its juice.

Finally, some beautifully
pungent dried mint,

and just stir to combine.

I decant the sauce into its
serving bowl now, but I won't

get a kofta cooking
till suppertime.

All I do is fry these
zeppelin-shaped patties

in olive oil over
a high-ish heat.

I give them five
minutes or so a side.

I've been soaking
some sliced red

onions in vinegar, which takes
the sting out of them and also

turns them a
glorious lambent puce.

These need to go
into this little bowl here.

Time to turn over
the kofta and give

them a little bit of a baste.

I've already got some warm
flatbreads out on the table, along

with my sauce, some roughly chopped
tomatoes with parsley, and some

shredded iceberg.

Now the kofta
and I can join them.

Hello. Ok. Kofta.

Onions.

This is so strong,
this garlic sauce.

You can never
have too much garlic.

I'm going in.

Mmm.

Time to put the finishing
touches to pudding.

My pav base is completely
cold now, which is just as

well 'cause it's time to get
on with the strawberry topping.

Now, I've cut these
strawberries into three,

from top to bottom, so you can
still see their rather beautiful shape.

There's 300g there.

And, although I often
make a passionfruit pavlova,

and it's one of my favourites

and I love the crunchiness
of the seeds then, for this pav,

I'm just using the juice.

It not only heightens the
flavour of the strawberries,

much as using
balsamic vinegar does,

but it also brings that
sour-sweet fragrance of its own.

And the last bit of ritual
disembowelling coming up.

Right, I'm going to pour
the passionfruit juice

over the strawberries,
every last bit.

Just two teaspoons
of caster sugar.

That mixture of sharpness

and sweetness really sings.

Right, I'm going to leave these to
macerate while I whip the cream.

I've got 300ml of
double cream in there

and I want it
whipped until it's thick

and airy but still soft.

I'm going to flip over
the pavlova base.

Et voila!

Because, as ever, it's this
wonderful, tender, marshmallow-y

side that I want hitting
the cream when it goes on.

Perfect.

So, I want a swirling mound.

And don't ever worry
about some cracks

and splinters in the pav base.

I want a few swirls and Eddies

to tumble my strawberries onto.

And here are the strawberries now.
You can see what the passionfruit

juice has done, they're
slicked, Scarlet and glossy.

Spoon these over.

I love the way the juice has mixed
some of the red of the strawberry

and the golden
of the passionfruit,

and is now a gleaming coral.

And now I want
some of this coral juice

to run down the sides
in scented rivulets.

I could fall headlong
into this so happily.

But, better not.

Oh, it's really delicious.

Some evenings, I just want
to savour something simple,

special and in a bowl.

Right, I'm gloving up to
make my golden egg curry.

It gets its goldenness
from this turmeric

and, although I want its
beautiful hue in the food,

I really could do without
it staining everything

in the kitchen,
including me, forever.

I use a teaspoon to
peel it like I do for ginger.

It's the easiest way to
go, it's very thin-skinned.

Who isn't?

It just comes off very easily.

The cling-film on the board is
another one of my precautions.

It seems a bit of a faff, I
know, but it's so worth it,

'cause fresh turmeric
adds such depth.

I mean, of course,
you can use a teaspoon

of ground turmeric
so don't worry.

I'm going to just
chop it roughly.

And this is ingredient
numero uno for the curry paste,

which I'm going to make in here.

And in it goes. And now

I can de-glove and get

on with the rest of the paste.

A fair amount of chopping has
taken place. I've got some garlic

and some regular green
chillies - I've de-seeded them.

And I've left these teeny,
teeny little green finger chillies

with the seeds in.

They are very hot, but I'm trying
to modulate the heat in this fashion.

A lot of warmth - some ginger

and a lot of shallots.

In everything goes.

And now I'm going
blitz them to a paste.

Ahh.

Oh, that's both
fierce and fragrant.

I've got a smooth paste now.

All looks a bit dayglo green at this
stage but it won't once it's cooked.

To do that, I'm going to heat
some vegetable oil in this wok.

And I'll get my spoon that I've
already ruined with turmeric,

and I have to say, ground
turmeric does exactly the same.

I'm just going to fry
this until it softens.

Think eggs poached in a rich,

aromatic tamarind-sharp,
coconut-y soup.

Absolutely gorgeous.

Ooh! Nearly forgot
my lemongrass.

It's getting engulfed
by the paste now.

Looking rather
Halloween, but it won't.

But this now is soft
and slightly reduced,

so in goes some coconut milk.

And some tamarind. And the
sharpness is so crucial here.

I've got a bit of salt -
always important with eggs.

Well, I think important
with everything.

Just a bit of water from
this recently boiled kettle.

While that's coming to the boil,

I am going to perform a small
amount of surgery on these

three finger chillies

because part of my heat modulation
scheme means that if I Pierce

these slightly with the tip

of a knife, a bit of the heat
will seep out into the sauce.

If you want it milder,
don't Pierce them.

If you want it much
milder, don't add them.

And however hot you think
you like your food, don't eat them.

The currency of recipes is
such a valuable one to me and I

was given this recipe
by a Malaysian friend.

I'm going to hope my
Malaysian is ok here

because I think it's
called masak lemak telur.

Now this is lusciously
thick and still bubbling.

So, in goes the egg.

See, you can hear the
curry sauce is impatient for it.

On goes the lid.

I have to say, I often make a
huge batch of this sauce in advance

and freeze it or put in the fridge
in portions so I can have a golden

egg curry at a moment's notice.

Yes, that is just how I like
the egg. So the white's cooked

but the yolk looks like it's
going to be fabulously runny.

Tummy is rumbling.

Mmm. I might give
it a little bit of chilli.

Try not to bite on it.

And I've got some
flatbreads left over,

just right for dippage as well.

Right, I'm going in.

Glorious!

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