All language subtitles for Nigella.At.My.Table.S01E01.1080p.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 was going in for a bit of
larder management recently

and I realised that my chilli
collection had got so large, it was

about time I gave it its
own shelf - the hot spot.

I mean, I've got
sauces, I've got pastes,

I've got flakes, I
mean, from all over.

I mean, where -
where do I start?

Mexico, why not?

Oh, I love this. It's a
mixture of chilli, lime and salt.

It's absolutely wonderful
sprinkled over melon,

and rather lovely
on avocado, too.

Now, I think, Turkey next.

This is urfa biber,
it's almost black, it's...

So rich and raisin-y

and its smoky taste
makes it wonderful

with garlicky roast aubergine.

Now, this is what I want
now - still in Turkey -

aleppo pepper, pul biber
in Turkey, or aleppo pepper.

I love its distinct lemony-ness

and I need it right now
for my Turkish eggs.

You can keep your eggs Benedict,

my first dreamy mouthful
of these Turkish eggs

and I was utterly sold.

The thing is, I think you
have to taste it to understand it.

That's to say, a poached
egg on garlicky yoghurt

with a chilli butter
sauce on top.

But it is not only a revelation
but a complete sensation.

That's Greek yoghurt there.

I need a clove of garlic,

just minced in.

And sea salt flakes. I cannot
eat eggs without a lot of salt.

Although, traditionally,
the yoghurt's cold,

I like this to be just
above room temperature.

I suppose you could say
Turkish room temperature.

So, I've got pan here of
water that's come to boil

and is now just hot.

The gentle heat underneath the
bowl makes the yoghurt less thick than

when it's fridge-cold,
which is what I want.

So, that's the garlicky yoghurt

and it can just sit here.
And now for the butter sauce.

So, I need butter.

Don't be tempted to have the
flame high, just be patient, it'll happen.

If it gets too hot,
it'll just spit at you.

And this is it, beautiful
and hazelnutty.

So, to this - heat off - I add
some extra virgin olive oil.

And now my beautiful
red pepper flakes,

the aleppo pepper.

And as I stir, these
foam up fierily.

And this will stand very
happily while I poach the egg.

The water's almost come
to the boil so I'll get my eggs.

I always keep eggs out
except when I'm poaching them.

I've had a pathological fear
of egg poaching for so long

that I have devised certain
steps that have made

me now preternaturally calm when I
poach an egg, eager to poach an egg.

So, rule one, fridge cold, it
just keeps its shape better.

Rule two, crack the
egg into a tea strainer

and let the watery bit of
white drip off underneath.

It's this watery bit of white
that, when you poach it,

would turn into stringy fluff.

I sometimes miss this stage out - I
mean, if it's just a poached egg on

toast for me in the morning - but
Turkish eggs deserve the very best.

And now rule three,
gently transfer the egg

to a cup or a
ramekin and, instead

of adding vinegar to the
poaching water, I add, I suppose,

about a teaspoon of lemon juice,
just directly onto the egg white.

It makes the white sort of go...

And hold its shape better.

And now let's see.

I'm going to slip the
egg in very gently.

Make sure your cup is
as near to the surface

of the water as possible.
And then turn the heat down.

I don't want to see any
movement in the water.

I cannot eat Turkish eggs
without a hunk of toast to dip in,

so... toast on.

And I want some
dill, sprinkled over.

It's so peaceful when
the water's that low.

So, while the egg's poaching,
I'm going to add the yoghurt.

Just a few splodges.

You don't need too much.

And now gently

lift the egg out, drip off a
teeny bit of excess water

and there we are.

On top

of the yoghurt. Perfect.

And the sauce, I'm going to
pour that both over the egg,

but some around edges

of the yoghurt, like
a chilli butter moat.

The dill.

And my toast.

Perfect timing.

Oh!

And this is just the best
breakfast in the world.

Morning, noon or night,
I am always ready to eat.

I remember visiting my late
mother-in-law in hospital one day,

and the woman in the bed
next to her suddenly shouted out,

"help! I need a sandwich!"

And I so understood. That's
how hunger always takes me, and I

regularly have the same feeling of
urgent need for a chocolate brownie.

And I can't necessarily
justify making a whole batch.

And this is where my
emergency brownies come in.

They don't take very long

and you don't need very many
ingredients, but what you end up

with are two large, fudgy squares
to be snaffled, still warm and squidgy,

straight from
the tin if need be.

So, when your need is great, put
50g of soft unsalted butter into a pan,

then sprinkle over
50g of soft light

brown sugar. Add a tablespoon
full of Amber maple syrup, though

you could always use golden
syrup. Put it on a gentle heat and give

it a stir every now and then.

When it's all melted,
take the pan off the heat.

Add three tablespoons of cocoa,

to three tablespoons of
plain flour already in a bowl,

along with 0.25 teaspoon
of sea salt flakes.

Mix together, then stir them
into the waiting saucepan.

Crack an egg into a bowl,

add a teaspoon of vanilla
extract, then lightly whisk together.

Then add this to the
saucepan, and stir again

until everything is smoothly
and glossily combined.

Tip in 50g of
chocolate chips and

the same weight
of walnut pieces,

and give everything
a final stir.

I always bake my emergency
brownies in one of those

little foil tins that looks like
you've got takeaway food.

Scrape every last bit of the lovely
fudgy batter into the tin and bake

in an oven at 170
degrees for 15-20 minutes,

by which time the
top will be just set,

and the edges coming
away from the tin.

If at all possible -

and I know it's a big ask -
let the brownies stand out

of the oven for 20 or 30
minutes, before diving in.

I'm after some flowers
to decorate my table

and I find myself, naturally
enough, drawn to the nigella

flowers, more familiarly
known as 'love-in-the-mist', and I

think I'll put in just a few
green bell, along with them.

I don't need very many because
what I'm going to do is cut them all down

and put them in some teeny
vintage milk bottles I've got and dot

them prettily around the table.

I always remember - and I
might have mentioned this before -

that my mother was very firm about
many things, but in particular about

not having big, blowsy
displays of flowers on a table

because she said it
interfered with people's eye line

and thus with their conversation,
which was a complete no-no.

And there's going to be a
lot of noisy conversation later

because I've got some of my family
coming around for supper, and i'm

giving them one of my
absolute favourite things

to cook at the moment,
which is my chicken

and pea tray bake.

It's just the thing for a relaxed
get-together around the table.

Oh, and afterwards

- well, after, there is the aptly
named queen of puddings.

Wow, that looks amazing.

I love an old cookery book
and I'm forever trawling

second-hand bookshops
or their online equivalents.

This one is a particular joy,

it's called 'our favourite dish'
or 'the theatre recipe book',

and it's an anthology -
always a rich seam - of recipes,

by the, sort of, leading performers
and actors of the age, and this

is really - 1952 it came out.

Where shall I start?

Well, why not with Noel coward?

Now, he's got a recipe here he calls
Warsaw concerto - not sure why, as

it's some film music
from a 1940s British film.

Maybe it's an in-joke.

And I feel you should be eating
this in leather slippers, trousers and a

very long silk dressing gown.

And actually, it was flicking
through this book that reminded

me of the majesty that
is queen of puddings.

And a queen of puddings is a
very traditional British pudding.

And you start off with eggs
and you separate them,

and with the yolks, you make a
custard studded with breadcrumbs,

and then there's jam

and with the whites, you
make a meringue topping.

Now, my queen of puddings,
I suppose, is the Marie

antoinette version, because I used
brioche rather than breadcrumbs.

Into a buttered ovenproof dish, add
crumbs made from a 150g of brioche.

Then pour 500ml of
full-fat milk into a saucepan.

Add 50g of soft,
unsalted butter.

A teaspoon of vanilla.

25g of caster sugar,

and a pinch of salt.

Then I add the finely
grated zest of a lemon.

This needs to be warmed through
just until the butter has melted.

Then take the
mixture off the heat,

and add it to a bowl
containing four egg yolks,

and whisk together.

When everything is fragrantly
combined, pour over the crumbs

in their dish, and leave

for ten minutes before baking in an
oven at 170 degrees, for 20 minutes.

And with pudding well underway,
I can now get on with my chicken

and pea tray bake.

You know, I really had
thought I had exhausted

the culinary possibilities
of a packet of frozen peas,

but a friend of mine
recently showed me his

method for using them, still frozen,
as the first layer in a tray bake.

It takes a leap of
faith but go with it.

With the peas, I want the gentle
allium savouriness of leeks, sliced.

This is so relaxing.

Easy to make, cosy to eat.

You know, I am
totally unembarrassed

about using frozen
peas whenever I can

and I'm very, very
proud of the fact

that Nigel slater has crowned
me the queen of the frozen pea.

Come back.

So, the leeks can
join the petit pois.

And now two fat
cloves of garlic.

Everything goes
straight into the pan.

And any nub I can't mince,
I can just drop in as it is.

I'll let this little
nub go in, as well.

Wonderful.

A good scattering
of sea salt flakes.

And next, a little olive
oil, just regular olive oil.

And a splosh of
dry white vermouth.

A flourish of dill.

I need some to scatter on later,

but this can just be
torn up over the peas.

And to help stop
me getting frostbite

as I mix everything together,

some gloves.

And this being a chicken
and pea tray bake,

I need my chicken.

Thighs for me.

As the peas cook, they
grow duller in colour, certainly,

but so much more
vibrant in flavour,

and the steam they give off makes
the chicken exceptionally tender

and its skin crisp and crackly.

For one more little touch,

I need a little more oil
just on the chicken skin.

And ditto with the sea salt.

Once they come out of the oven,
i'm going to scatter them with the dill

I've got left. Oh,
and alongside,

I've got these rather
fabulous black-skinned,

purple flesh vitelotte potatoes.

I'll steam these later.

But for now, this
needs to go in the oven.

It'll be done in
about 1.25 hours

and, while it cooks,
I'll Potter about

and get the table ready
for my sister and family.

I do love a cluttered table.
The more bits and pieces

there are dotted about
the place, the happier I am.

And I know I haven't left a
lot of room for the food but,

that doesn't matter,
I'll squeeze it in.

And it doesn't matter either that
we're all shoved up against one

another because, really, the
whole point of this is being together.

Once my tray bake
is hot out of the oven,

I strew it abundantly with dill.

The unsure of word oh, lovely.

It really is.

Jimbo. Oh, yes.

Two? Yes, yes, please.

Definitely.

Well, everyone's happy

and that makes me happy.

And to up the happiness
quotient further - pudding.

So, the first layer
has been baked

and it's sat out
a little and it's

tender and soft

but just set on the surface.

But part of the majesty of
queen of puddings resides

in its gleaming, billowing meringue
topping, so I'll get on with that.

I just need to wait until the
meringue is forming firm peaks.

Perfect!

So I'm going to add the sugar
now. I've got 100g here for these four

egg whites and,
full speed ahead.

Mmm! So, that's the
gorgeous and gleaming topping

and I've got the base, so now
the middle layer. Not very arduous.

I have some jam.
Plum jam, I want.

And I'm going to add
some lemon juice,

partly to make it a
little more pourable

and spreadable, but also
because I need a little more acerbity.

Mmm! Look at this. So beautiful.

Positively regal.

I want to spread it just
lightly and gently on top.

So, that's all done and now

to dollop the meringue on top.

And, gentle dolloping 'cause I
don't want to streak the jam through it.

There we are.

It's important to make sure

the meringue topping goes
to the edges. It just seals it.

Now smooth the top gently.

I don't want to pull the jam up.

And then the bit
I really enjoy...

Which is roughing it up a bit

so that it has
glorious, swirly peaks.

I want to sprinkle

the little sugar left here,
just to sprinkle over.

And when it bakes,
the meringue is so light

and soft and white within, and

the surface is beginning to turn -
where the sugar catches in the oven

- the palest copper,

and beginning to crisp.

Al forno!

Here we are! Ready!
Queen of puddings.

Wow, that looks amazing.

Right. Who's first? You?

Yes, please.

Ooh, of course it is.

Heaven. Thank you.

Mm! Oh, look at that.

Oh, I love it with the brioche.

A chewy bit? Mmm.
Can I take a chewy bit?

I think everyone's got a cupboard
a bit like this under the stairs.

I'll clear it up later. But
anyway, maybe not this bad.

And it started off
life as my baking

cupboard, so various tins that I
use on special occasions, and I

don't want to clutter
up my kitchen.

And then it became
a repository of items

that I bought for some special
occasion I dreamt would happen

and never have. For
example, an electric

crepe-maker in
pristine condition.

Look, ready to swirl

and then fold my crepes
and, I bought it when

children were really quite teeny

and now they're in their 20s.

Yet to be used
but I live in hope.

And right now - oh, yes.

Oh, look. Right now I need this.

I will be clearing it up!

Ahh, the perils of
online shopping.

Now, obviously, in
the middle of the night,

I felt the need to order
a guacamole dish.

You might well ask why and I

seriously wouldn't
be able to answer you.

Anyway, for some
reason, it lingers on.

Now, I am somewhat embarrassed

to admit that I have bought
a spiraliser attachment.

I read recently that the
two things that are donated

most frequently to charity shops
are Dan brown novels and spiralisers.

While you will never
find me making zoodles

or courgetti or fashioning
any other vegetable

to masquerade as
pasta, I have found

that the spiraliser really does
make great shoestring fries.

Right, I'm going to
get this out of the way.

Before I spiralise my potatoes -

and there's a verb I
never thought I'd use -

I need to perform a
little surgery on them.

This needs a flat bottom.

Unattractive in a person, very
necessary for this procedure.

And then I impale.

This is going to be a challenge
to my dexterity. Here goes.

This goes in here.

Going to fasten it on properly.

This does look rather like a
crossbow, rather alarmingly so.

Blade in, if I can.

And I can!

I'll bring this closer
to squeeze it in.

And I'm locked, I'm loaded,

and it's full speed ahead.

E pur si muove.

I'm going to spud up again.

Right, I'm going
to dismantle this...

Before I can do
any further harm.

And I need to separate
the curls slightly

and they need to be patted
dry with a clean tea towel.

I don't want any liquid
before I deep-fry them.

Right, I think... I think
these are dry enough.

They'll just splutter if
they go in wet to the oil,

and we don't want that.

I've got a hot oil here.

Oh!

The most glorious sound.

These won't take long to cook
so I've got my plate ready, and I've

covered it with a
bit of kitchen towel

so I can dab these
down for ultra-crispness.

Right, I need this,

which is a cross between
a basket and a ladle.

Ahh!

A beautiful golden tangle.

All-important, I just
want to remove the paper.

And sprinkle,
overexcitedly, with sea salt.

I'm going to crunch my way
through these very happily.

There is no elegant
way to eat them

and that's in their favour.

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