All language subtitles for Nigella.At.My.Table.S01E07.Christmas.1080p.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-squalor

(Piano music)

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

That was a long
journey, but so worth it.

And I'm going to wind down

and settle in with a
little Christmas Martini.

Some ice.

Vodka.

Raspberry liqueur.

And creme de cacao
blanc - chocolate.

There is a warming hint of
pudding-y-ness about this.

And more than a soupcon of camp.

And it needs a
little bit of festive fir.

Rosemary will do.

Chin-chin.

I am unapologetically
urban, but this year,

I felt the call of the wild,

so I have decamped
to the countryside.

I just felt the need to
wake up to a big sky

and go for long walks
and then eat hearty meals.

And in the evenings,
hunker down all cosy,

by a crackling log fire.

At this time of year,

I like to have something
sweet to stash in a tin,

both to give as presents
and to have on standby

for when people drop by.

And this is where my
forgotten cookies come in.

And I start off with
two large egg whites.

And, you know, there's just
something about a gentle spot

of cosy pottering and baking

that truly makes me
feel Christmas has come.

And I just need a pinch of salt

before I whisk
these to soft peaks.

It doesn't take very
long. Nearly there.

And, as with making a meringue,
I'm going to add some sugar.

I've got 100g of caster sugar.

And I'm going to
keep the whisk fast

and add the sugar gradually.

And I say, much like a meringue,

but really, in a way, these
are up to a point, meringues.

They're a cross between
a meringue and a cookie.

So, obviously, at home,
we call these 'merookies'.

Obviously.

The last bit of sugar.

And it's all in. Ahh!

Beautiful, gleaming snow.

I'm going to need
this in a minute.

I want some ground cardamom.

Not a lot - a 0.25 teaspoon.

Such a distinctive scent,

it really is the smell of
Scandinavian Christmas baking.

It's got a peppery citrus-y-ness
and deliciously smoky.

I want a teaspoon of cornflour.

There we are.

And a teaspoon of vinegar -

just regular white
wine or cider vinegar.

And it's the
cornflour and vinegar

that keep the merookies
squidgy in the middle,

which is always desirable.

Right.

I'm going to fold
these in by hand.

Just gently.

I don't know how it should be
that adding chocolate and nuts

turns these into cookies.

It just does.

So, I've got 75g of teeny-weeny
dark chocolate chips.

And 75g as well of
pistachios, all chopped up.

A beautiful tender
green, edged with pink.

It just makes it feel such
a treat with the pistachios.

I don't know why it
should be, but it just does.

Now I'm going to
fold these in, gently.

And that is my
merookie batter done.

Right. Ahh, I kept
the whisk for a reason.

I'll just stick down
the baking parchment.

My seasonal spoons,
ready for their annual outing.

I'm going to drop
mounded blobs of this,

aiming for about
4-5cm in diameter

but not measuring or
being particularly numerate.

This is just
deliciously relaxing.

These are unlike anything else.

They're chewy, crisp
and chocolaty all at once.

And there is a reason why
they're called 'forgotten cookies',

because I don't
actually bake them.

I put them in an
oven at, sort of, 180

and then I turn the
oven off immediately

and let them 'cook'
in the residual heat.

I normally leave them overnight

or I can do the same
amount of hours all day,

since the rest of
my cooking today

is going to be on the hob.

And now for a little
sprinkling of pistachios.

These are forgotten cookies

and I have to say,

I often do forget
they're in the oven,

so I have to stick a note
saying, "do not use oven."

A bit of Christmas decoration.

I've got some edible
disco glitter, to go on top.

It won't lose its sparkle
in the oven, not one bit.

Look at them twinkling.

Right, that's them done.

Note to self.

Off with the oven.

And...

Inspired and uplifted
by everything around me,

I've decided to have
a little Christmas party,

and I'm going to throw
it right here in the barn.

I've already started decorating

and it's going to be
the most magical space,

and just the perfect setting

for the feast I have
in store for everyone.

To start everything off, I've
got a cocktail with real oomph.

My sparkling negroni sbagliato.

This will be served alongside

my retro-fabulous devilled eggs.

Devilled eggs haven't
been seen much

since they adorned hostess
trolleys back in the '70s,

but I say it's truly time
for their comeback.

The main course is roast duck
with orange, soy and ginger.

Ahh! It is simple
but sensational.

And it uses my sure-fire method

for getting the
crispest skin imaginable

and the most
meltingly tender meat.

To go with, there's my
garlic and parmesan mash

in golden gratin form.

A beautifully festive Ruby stew
of red cabbage with Cranberries,

and my bejewelled
Brussels sprouts

with preserved lemon
and pomegranate.

Oh, we like the duck.
Yeah, it's delicious.

And after all that,

there's dessert
nirvana in the form of

a dark and luscious
sticky toffee pudding

and Brandy salted
caramel ice cream.

But before I get
stuck in to the party,

I've got supper to make
for a few friends to enjoy

around the fire later.

There's a bit of
chopping needed for this,

but nothing too daunting,

even for someone
with my poor knife skills.

There are so many
eating opportunities

at this time of year -

it's not all about
the meat feast.

Just get some heat under
there, warm up the olive oil.

Just a little bit of it.

And my Moroccan vegetable pots,
sweet with carrots and parsnips,

and tangy with preserved
lemons and dried apricots,

is just the perfect,
relaxing, warming supper

when it's cold outside. Ahh!

I love bowl food.

First in go the leeks.

That mellow,
sweet allium flavour.

Now some cinnamon.

Cumin, the Moroccan
spice, I think.

Ahh! Some ground ginger.

Beautiful, warming
spices, just right.

And christmassy, too.

I'm going to give
everything a bit of a stir.

I don't want the
leeks to soften.

I mean, really, I'm just
turning them in the spiced oil.

Almost just for the
pleasure of smelling it.

And now the carrots.

I like carrots cut
into chunky battens

but I really am not
going to interfere with you

if you want fat coins.

And parsnips.

A different way to have
Christmas parsnips this year.

And I've got some
chunked-up potato.

Not much, but it will absorb
all the spices beautifully.

Slightly thicken
the juices, too.

An aubergine.

Well, it too drinks
up the flavour,

whatever it cooks with.

There.

Give these vegetables a chance
to become better acquainted.

They can mingle in the pot.

So, garlic.

What I like to do
is just press down

with the flat of a knife so I
can remove the skins easily

and the cloves themselves
become splintered.

Cooked this way, you don't
get the burning heat of garlic,

just mellow, sweet warmth.

So, after the sweet garlic,
some salty green olives, pitted.

There you are. In
they go, tumble in.

Ahh! Apricots.

I'm just going to snip them in.

Everyone can get more that way.

It's better when
they're halved so that,

as you eat, you can
get sharp fruity bursts.

Ahh!

Preserved lemons.

Once you discover these,

your life is changed
forever and for the better.

There's something about
them unlike anything else.

Well, yes, they're like lemons

but they've got such
intense sourness,

but such intense fragrance, too.

They just enliven
anything they're in.

I have to say, I use the juice
from a jar of preserved lemons

to make my dirty lemon
Martini, just mixed with vodka

and the merest
whisper of vermouth.

I'm going to be a bit slovenly
and just leave in the odd pip.

Perhaps I shouldn't, but I am.

Scrape up every last
bit of this perfumed pulp.

Ahh! The fragrance
is just heady.

And now some chickpeas.
I like jarred chickpeas.

They're often Spanish
jarred chickpeas,

they're much
softer and squishier.

Now, there's so much
flavour in the vegetables

and the spices and, of
course, the preserved lemons,

I don't need stock,
merely water.

Just cold water.

Saffron.

These precious strands with
their wonderful, rich flavour,

and bringing that
glint of gold, as well.

I'm going to salt generously.

It's good to do
everything generously.

There is quite a bit of
peeling and chopping.

I mean, not that much.

But this is so relaxing to make

because everything
goes into the pot

and then, comes to a bubble,
simmers gently until it's tender,

and that's all there is to it.

And I do love as well,

that the spices, which
are north African,

and the dried fruit,

are also the flavours of
medieval Christmas feasting.

So, now that it's cheerfully
bubbling away, I have plans.

Lid on.

And I'm going to make
some couscous to go with it.

I've already toasted
some pine nuts

and I'll need them later.

I love wholemeal couscous.

It's slightly nuttier
than regular couscous

and fluffs up wonderfully.

To this, I add some dried dill.

I'll be adding fresh
dill on serving.

And I also add some
vegetable bouillon powder.

I mix it all together, it's
like playing in a sandpit,

before pouring over
some just-boiled water.

Finally, I drizzle
over a little olive oil.

And once I've covered
it, I just let it stand.

The merookies have been
idling in the oven all day

and they'll make the
perfect after-dinner treat.

Just before serving
the couscous,

I toss through those
toasted pine nuts

and a few fronds of fresh dill.

Don't move.

I have a small token of
my esteem and affection.

When I have a ladle,

it just always reminds me
of my custard monitor days.

I would dole out the
custard at school.

What, during lunch? Lunchtime.

Lunchtime.

It's the only position
of authority I've had.

(Laughter)

There you are. Right.

And here you are, my beautiful.

Mmm. That's quite scary.

It was quite a big revelation.

Ok. Napkins at the ready.

I think this is going
to go everywhere.

It's beautiful.

This is amazing.
It's really good.

Mmm. It's so chewy.

It's a really chocolaty one.

Tasty.

Thank you. There we are.

Right. I just need
to pop into town

for some seasonal supplies.

Hello. Hello, there.

I've come to collect the ducks.

Yeah. No problem.

Yeah, we've got
those ready for you.

Gorgeous. Beautiful.

Yeah? Good? Perfect.

Thank you.

I'll get those
wrapped up for you.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

See you. Bye.

A cosy, warm pub
is the perfect place

to be on a cold and wintery day.

I'm never going to
change my approach

to Christmas dinner itself.

For me, it has to be Turkey.

I get my bucket out, I
do the brine, the works.

But really, I like to get
as many celebrations in

as possible at Christmas time,

and my roast duck with
ginger, orange and soy

is fabulously festive,

and it's just right for
my cosy country escape.

So, I've got a
couple of duck here,

ready for my
gentle ministrations.

Because although I do cook
these in two parts, two stages,

neither of them are
at all labour-intensive.

In fact, this is
about the sum of it,

pricking the duck skin
to make little holes.

I'm rather enjoying
these puncture noises.

All the fat will drip
out of the holes

I'm making and make the
skin wonderfully crisp, later.

I've always roasted duck
in a two-stage operation,

but this is my new,
simplified version.

What I used to do
is boil the duck first.

But I really thought,
at this time of year,

who needs to be wrangling ducks

out of a big pan
of boiling water?

So now I steam-roast
them for the first time.

So, the first stage,

the steam roasting keeps
the meat lusciously tender,

and the final quick
blitz in a hot oven

means that the skin is
bronzed and crisp, wafer-thin

with delicate
shards of 'quackling'.

Ok, I'm going to have
to make myself stop

because I love this too much.

Ooh! Right. So, I
mentioned steam roasting

and this is what I mean.

Careful not to put the
water over the duck.

I want it to come up about 1cm.

And this is what keeps the
meat really lusciously, velvety soft.

And for this stage, they
need 1.5 hours at 180 degrees,

and I need to lurch oven-wards.

Ahh!

I don't add anything
to the ducks

while I cook them
because this sauce

adds all the flavour
their rich meat needs.

I've got a 0.5
litre of cold water.

And, mmm, the
smell of Christmas.

I want the pared
zest of two oranges.

And I use two rather
than one large one

because this size tends
to have the thinner skin,

which gives a more
delicate orange flavour

and less of the pith.

I wish I were the sort of person

who could remove
this in one piece but,

no point lamenting it,
I'll never be that person.

Anyway, what does it matter?

And now the warmth and
pep of some fresh ginger.

I'm going to add these
golden coins to the pan.

And the last ingredient for now
into this Asian-scented sauce,

well, it's more of an
anointing liquid, really,

is star anise.

Mmm! A gorgeous scent.

Stage one is just to
let these flavours infuse,

although the final touches
are not much more complicated.

Ahh!

Anything that makes
life easier is a good thing.

This is all so simple but the
depth of flavour is immense.

This has come to a bubble
now so I can turn it off

and, mmm, it's got a
fabulously festive fragrance,

and I need do nothing to
it until we're about to eat.

But I've got a couple of other
things I want to get ahead with.

I love cooking in advance
at this time of year.

And it wouldn't be Christmas
without red cabbage.

You know how when
you cook spinach,

you start off with a huge
sack and you end up

with a teacup-full?

Well, red cabbage is
the other way around.

Before I start cooking,

I always worry I'm not
going to have enough,

and then once it's cooked,

I realise I can keep several
families going for ages,

which is very gratifying.

And now a bit of
colour coordination.

Cut this red onion
into fine half-moons.

Look, I don't claim
to have knife skills.

I mean, so far, this
is pretty much like

the red cabbage my mother
always cooked at Christmas.

Although, actually, she
would use a regular onion,

not a red onion.

And, just as she did,

I'm adding sugar,
some soft dark sugar.

Ditto the spicing,
really lovely and warm.

Cinnamon.

Mmm!

So, sort of, rich and seasonal.

Mmm! That's it. Christmas.

Just a bit of cloves.
Not too much.

A little goes a long way here.

But this is where
I've changed things.

I add Cranberries, some
dried Cranberries here,

little nuggets of
tangy sweetness.

And then a whole load
of fresh Cranberries.

You can use frozen, too.

And there's something about
this sweetly braised red cabbage,

with the cheek squeaky sharpness

of these Cranberries.

It's just magnificent.

And a heavy snowfall of salt.

And I cook this in apple
juice, just from a carton.

You don't have to get squeezing.

And I know it looks as
if there's not a lot here

but, of course, the
Cranberries and the cabbage

and the onion give
off liquid as they cook.

Ok. I'm going to rupture
this beautiful scene.

I want to give everything a
stir before I bring it to a bubble.

And the wonderful
thing about red cabbage

is that it actually tastes better
when you make it a bit ahead.

So not only does it
make your life easier

but it makes everything
even more gorgeous.

Pat this down a bit.

Oh!

I think that was a
cranberry squealing there.

Ok. Heat on.

Just let it come to a bubble.

This is a real
seasonal edition to me,

sort of in one bowl,

braised red cabbage
and cranberry sauce.

So, you can see what I
mean about not needing

anymore apple juice
because now it's hot,

well, the red
cabbage and its jewels

are more or less submerged.

I'm just going to let
this bubble for a short bit

and the Cranberries
are beginning to pop.

And the wonderful thing is
the pectin in the Cranberries

actually thickens
the liquid later.

It's such a gorgeous sight.

However, it needs its lid on
while it cooks until it's tender.

And then I just heat it
up for the party. So easy.

My ducks have steam-roasted

and, once they've cooled down,

they can stay in
the fridge overnight.

And if my numbers grow,
which they well might,

I can prepare a couple
more ducks, as needed.

Now for my easy,

make-ahead garlic
and parmesan mash.

I've boiled the potatoes with
several fat cloves of garlic.

And once drained, I
add butter and some

of the garlicy potato water
before mashing roughly.

I add a little more water -

as much as I need to make
the mash soft and creamy,

and whisk till smooth.

Do not use a blender or processor
here or the mash will get gluey.

Finally, I add a generous
amount of grated parmesan,

and mix it in by hand

before dividing between a couple
of buttered ovenproof dishes.

And I'll leave these
as they are now,

adding a topping just before
I warm them up on the day.

For me, Christmas isn't
Christmas without the lights.

And although I have more
than enough in the house,

though can you ever have enough?

I love going into
the sparkly outside,

to take in the
local illuminations.

I absolutely have to have
salted caramel at Christmas,

in some shape or form.

And the form I decree this year

is my Brandy salted
caramel ice cream,

and it is ludicrously
simple to make.

I mean, it helps that the
caramel comes out of a tin,

it's caramel condensed milk.

Or you can use Dulce de
leche, it's exactly the same thing.

Just 'Dulce de
leche' sounds chic-er.

One tin, squelch it out.

397g if you really want to know.

And a small tub of
double cream - 300ml.

I'm just going to stir
these together a little bit

before I start whisking.

The joy of this is that
it's a no-churn ice cream.

You just mix everything
together, put it in tubs,

put it in the deepfreeze.

Go to sleep, get up,
you've got ice cream.

Salt, obviously.

Now I'm going to start off
with about a teaspoon of salt.

Moderate.

I'll just whisk it all together.

I just want it to get thickened.

Mmm, I can hardly wait.

I'm going to turn the speed
down a bit while I add the Brandy.

A spillage of Brandy.

I normally make salted
caramel ice cream with bourbon,

but at Christmas,
it has to be Brandy.

I'm just going to have a
taste, the ultimate sacrifice,

because you really
have to feel your way

to the right amount
of salt and Brandy.

And I want more of both.

You have to be a bit brave
and brazen at this point,

because all the flavours
will be slightly muted

once it's frozen.

So, I've made my ice cream.

And a scoop of this with
a sticky toffee pudding

and extra sauce,

I can't tell you how
deeply gorgeous it is.

Without too much
spilling all over the place,

I'm going to fill up my tubs.

Nearly to the top,
not quite. Mmm.

Gorgeous stuff.

Oh, I could get a bit more out

but I think I'm going to scrape
that down for myself later.

I come armed.

Right. Shall we just
try a little christmassy...

That's it. That was
meant to be a star.

I don't know what
I'm going to do here.

Um... maybe a bell.

Art is not my thing.

Right. To the
freezer, with these.

Everyone's coming round
tonight and I'm looking forward to it.

I'm excited. But I do want to
grab a moment of calm now.

It's so wonderful to be able
to have a walk in the woods.

It's both soothing and
uplifting at the same time.

You know,

recipes come into my life
in serendipitous fashion.

I was lounging about
on my sofa one evening,

reading one of the best
titles in my collection,

'being dead is no excuse:

'The official
southern ladies' guide

'to hosting the
perfect funeral'.

And, anyway, I was reading
this, it's a very funny book,

and I came across a
recipe for devilled eggs.

And really, I hadn't thought
about devilled eggs for ages,

not since I was a child.

And even then, I didn't think
very long and hard about them.

And then, not long after
that, I got this book in the post

from a friend of
mine in america,

it's called 'thoughts
for buffets'.

And her note says,

"nigella. I found
this at the estate sale

"of Veronica lake's
hairstylist, Carl Evans.

"That's all."

And, obviously, I read it
straight away and it, too,

had a recipe for devilled
eggs that jumped up at me,

and it was meant to be.

They came into my life
and there's no turning back.

Now, I know you don't need
me to tell you how to boil an egg,

but I'm going to tell
you how I make them.

And that is, I cook the
eggs in a pan of boiling water

for one minute,

then I leave them in the
pan but turn the heat off

for a further 12 minutes,

and then I transfer the
eggs to a bowl of iced water

for 15 minutes exactly,
before peeling them.

And then I'm ready to roll.

I don't deny,

I mean, devilled
eggs are fiddly to make

but they're not
actually difficult.

I'm just halving
my last few eggs.

And popping out their
yolks into a receptacle,

which may or may not be wise.

It's a vintage jelly mould.

It looked festive,
what can I tell you?

And you can see,
although it's not infallible,

that because I did let
the eggs lie on their sides

overnight before boiling them,
that the yolks are pretty centre.

Pretty much centred, anyway.

If you haven't
had a devilled egg,

I suppose the best way I have
of describing it to you is to say,

it's a bit like an egg form
of a loaded potato skin.

I'm going to add
flavour to these yolks,

and then stuff the cavities
in the eggs, with them.

Anyway, watch carefully.

First in, some mayonnaise.

Now what do I need?
Oh, English mustard.

In america when you eat
these, it's always got dijon but, no,

I want them to be
really properly devilled.

And a bit more fire, or
satanic seasoning if you want.

Some paprika.

Hot paprika.

So, this isn't just flavour,

it just makes it look
so gloriously golden.

And some tabasco.

Shall I add more?

No, I'm going to exercise
some uncharacteristic restraint.

I can taste later.

Some salt.

Right, I'm just going to
mix everything together

a bit with a fork first.

Oh, this would be so
good in a sandwich.

I suddenly have an
overwhelming desire to slather it

on two slices of good white
bread and just clamp them together.

Devilled eggs, for all that
they're retro, are no joke.

However many I make,
they always, always get eaten.

Now, obviously, you can
just whip these with a fork

but I want them to be so light,

and for that, I need this
bit of heavy machinery,

a stick blender.

So, a quick blitz.

Extra virgin olive oil.

This also helps
with the smoothness

and gives its glorious flavour.

This... this is not
the best thing to use.

We'll get there,
though, don't worry.

I'm going to leave this
planted here in my...

In my jelly mould.

And key to everything
emulsifying is some hot water.

And that makes it so
smooth and easy to pipe.

And that's it.
Beautiful texture.

I'm just going to have
a quick taste to see if

I want any more tabasco.

Just a bit more.

Ok.

Now, the moment I have
both been looking forward to

and dreading.

Piping.

Actually, I rather enjoy it.

It's so not me and
I never thought

I'd be one for getting a
fancy nozzled piping bag out,

but devilled eggs warrant it.

In fact, they demand it.

I'm just going to fill
up my piping bag...

With all this golden goo.

Now, as you might imagine,
I am not a natural Piper.

But, I'm going to do my best.

And actually, because I do add
chopped chives and more paprika

over the eggs at the end,

any little mistake
can be covered up.

Anyway, you know what?

Try and be perfect in life,

you're going to have a
very miserable existence.

You don't actually have to pipe.

You could use two teaspoons
and blob the yolk mixture in,

but I want the full experience,
total body immersion.

Ok, start pushing down.

Like, you know, like, ahh!

I'm going to enjoy this.

I've got the star nozzle,

and I am going to
attempt little rosettes.

See, that's the thing
about whipping it like that,

it's so easy to pipe,
although I mustn't jinx myself.

When you pipe each little bit,

just remove the tip very
swiftly from each one.

Now, I'm not getting identical
rosettes, that doesn't matter.

It's not factory-made,
this is home cooking.

Ok.

Don't mind me, I've got
some more eggs to pipe

and I want to lose
myself in them.

It's very peaceful work.
Rather mesmerising.

The calm before
the seasonal storm.

It's made my Christmas.

A little dusting of paprika.

It's easier to do it
like this from a height.

And a confetti of chives.

Perfect, perfect party food.

Even though I'm about to
have everyone descend on me,

I'm feeling calm and relaxed,

and that is the joy of being
able to do so much in advance.

The par-cooked
ducks, for example,

have stood out of
the fridge for a while,

and I've given them
both a good going-over

with a cocktail stick

and they need
just an hour's blast

in a 220-degree oven now.

My garlic and parmesan mash
is ready for the gratin topping.

I made this by rubbing
together 50g of breadcrumbs,

50g of soft unsalted butter
and 35g of grated parmesan.

This needs 30 minutes
in a 200-degree oven,

but you could always put
them in the oven below the duck.

I've put the red
cabbage on to warm up

and I'll do the sprouts
at the very last minute.

But right now there
is pudding to make.

Much as I love bringing

new flavours to
all the festivities,

I have to say,

this time of year is also just
about the cosiness of tradition.

And at my table,

a sticky toffee pudding
is a Christmas classic.

Now, interestingly, I say
'classic' but, you know,

sticky toffee pudding
didn't even come to exist

until the '70s.

I've got 200g of soft
dried pitted dates,

and these need to
be roughly chopped.

I add a teaspoon of bicarb,

before pouring over
200ml of just-boiled water.

I leave these to soften while
I get on with the cake batter.

First in goes 75g of
soft unsalted butter,

and then two tablespoons

of gleaming and
viscous black treacle.

These need to be mixed together

before I add 50g of
dark muscovado sugar.

Once this is incorporated,

I beat in, a little
more gently now,

two large eggs, which
were at room temperature.

Then 150g of plain flour.

And finally, two teaspoons
of baking powder.

I thrash the softened dates
with a fork, squishing them a bit,

before adding
them, liquid and all,

to the batter.

And carry on mixing
until combined.

I pour and scrape the
nubbly buff-coloured batter

into a buttered ovenproof
dish of about 23cm square

and bake at 180 degrees
for about 30 minutes.

Just like the cake
that goes underneath it,

my version of sticky
toffee pudding sauce

has a savage intensity.

It starts with 150g of butter,

and I just want a gentle
heat under it for now,

to help it start to melt.

And on top, 300g of
dark muscovado sugar.

I want its molasses, sticky,
gingerbread-y richness.

Yes, there's a lot of it but
this is not the time of year

for restraint.

When is, frankly?

And now some treacle.

And I have a tablespoon
here that I've had in hot water.

In theory, at least,

it means the treacle should
run off the spoon better,

easier for measuring out.

There's a wonderful dark
undertow to the black treacle,

and a little bit of
ferrous tang that I like.

I'm just going to
swirl it for a bit.

I just want everything
to melt together.

The butter has
more or less melted,

so I'm going to start giving
everything a bit of a stir.

So, of course,

the flavours here echo
the gorgeous flavours

of the date-studded cake.

Look at that, darkly
gleaming at me.

It has such a sombre majesty.

My last ingredient -
200ml of double cream.

I rather enjoy seeing it just
getting engulfed by the darkness.

All I need to do now is
let this come to a bubble,

to form a sticky glaze.

And the rest goes
into those jugs

and it can be poured thickly
over both sticky toffee pudding

and ice cream, later.

Ok. Sorry.

I've got the perfect cocktail to
make my party go with a swing.

It's called a negroni sbagliato.

Now, you may know
a classic negroni,

which is gin, red
vermouth and campari,

and this version simply uses
prosecco instead of the gin.

And 'sbagliato' means mistaken,

and the story is that
this cocktail came about

by happy accident at
the bar basso in Milan

in the '60s, when a bartender
used prosecco instead of gin.

I think it's probably
apocryphal, but you know what?

All cocktails have the
romance of their own narrative.

I'm prepared to go with it,

not least because I so much
prefer a negroni sbagliato

to a classic one,

although I wouldn't
tell everyone.

So, here we are. Amar.

Dave.

Do you want to
try a devilled egg?

Thank you. Thank you.

Yeah?

I can see you like your drink.

I'll give you a
top-up in a minute.

Thank you.

May I?

Would you like to try one?
You might need two hands.

That's very good.

Well, the party seems to
have got off to a good start,

and the Brussels sprouts
are the work of mere moments.

Talking of which, can I just say,
I have no time for the vociferous

anti-sprout brigade or their
Brussels-bashing bigotry.

I love sprouts in all
their incarnations,

and this exotic casserole
is my favourite way

to eat them right now.

First off, I soften
some sliced leek

in a little oil and butter.

I mince in some garlic now.

Give it a good stir.

Then I add some finely
chopped preserved lemons,

you know how much I love them,

and stir them into
the garlicy leeks.

A little cinnamon adds
christmassy warmth, but subtly.

Now I add the sprouts,
which I've halved,

and it also seems to
make them go further.

I turn them in the pan and,
when they're well-coated,

I add a generous
sprinkle of sea salt flakes

and pour in a little
just-boiled water.

Then I clamp on a lid. These
take only a few minutes to cook.

Now I just need to finish
off the sauce for the duck.

I remove the bits of orange
peel, ginger and star anise.

Add some soy sauce to the
now deeply flavoured liquid

in the pan,

and warm it up.

Once it's hot, stir in
a little bit of honey.

Pour some of the aromatic
sauce over the meat,

avoiding the crisp skin,
and serve the rest as gravy.

I've reheated my rubied
red cabbage and Cranberries

on the hob,

and the potatoes
are ready to come out

crisped and hot from the oven.

The sprouts are cooked
tender but still with

a bit of crunch,

and I just need to sprinkle
over a generous amount of

pomegranate seeds
and chopped parsley

before mixing
everything together

and sprinkling yet more on top.

Here.

Can I give you some
of these to hand out?

There we are.

Thank you very much.

You can have this one
with the crisp bit on the top.

Yum!

I'm going to have more, then.

We like the duck. It's great.

Yeah. It's so delicious, yeah.

When the cake part
of the stp is cooked,

I prick it all over
with a cocktail stick,

and then ladle over a layer
of the darkly shining sauce.

It can stand like this
till I'm ready to serve it,

along with my salted
caramel ice cream,

and more of its luscious sauce.

Oh, wow! This
has got Brandy in it.

Mmm!

Is there more of
that? It's so good.

Captions edited by
ai-media ai-media. TV