Recipes

Nigella Lawson

Nigella Lawson

Nigella Lawson · Nigella Express

A warming, welcoming pud full of seasonal spice that can be thrown together in a matter of minutes. Truly a pudding to give thanks for. As for the eggnog cream, by all means add a grating of nutmeg if you would like — I don

Nigella Lawson · Nigella Express

Hokey pokey is a Cornish term for honeycomb. It is wonderful eaten in golden shards or crumbled into the best vanilla ice cream. It is also the perfect present to take to a dinner party. Better than flowers, as they need to be put into a vase, better than chocolate, which people tend to smile politely at, but put away in a drawer: no one can resist a bit of hokey pokey I

Nigella Lawson · Nigella Summer

I love these sweet and meaty quail, conker-shiny in their vaguely Chinesey marinade. As often as not, I grill them rather than barbecue them; even a blitz in a very hot oven will do. The thing is to marinate them for a good long time — at least 24 hours — so that they keep fleshy and juicy and meltingly tender no matter how brutally you cook them.

Nigella Lawson · Nigella Express

Nigella Lawson · How To Be A Domestic Goddess

Nigella Lawson

This is relaxingly simple to make: a quick blitz with a stick blender, and you have an upliftingly fragrant, gloriously green paste which you coat the lamb with before roasting and, once cooked, gives a soft, fresh-flavoured crust. You don’t exactly get a gravy out of the liquid at the bottom of the tin (the water stops the tin from burning and keeps the meat gorgeously tender) but taste it once the lamb’s rested, to see if you want to add a little freshly boiled water, and possibly a drop or two of honey, to give you some juices to pour over the carved meat. And please read the Additional Information section at the end of the recipe before proceeding.

Nigella Lawson

Nigella Lawson

Nigella Lawson

Nigella Lawson

It is not quite normal to feel as joyous as I do when saying the words “Brussels sprouts”, but this recipe does not merely use said much-denigrated ingredient, it also celebrates it. Sprouts are nutty, fresh, gorgeous, and I regard this recipe as their seasonal showcase. Not Italian, you might say. Well, my inspiration for it is the one authentically defining dish of Valtellina, in Lombardy, up towards the Swiss border. That dish is pizzoccheri, a traditional winter-warmer hotchpotch of homemade buckwheat tagliatelle, potatoes, Savoy cabbage and Taleggio or fontina cheese, baked and flavoured with sage, garlic and Parmesan. You can buy pizzoccheri in boxes, with dried short lengths of buckwheat pasta, but for me it is too gummy and tastes nothing like the pizzoccheri I’ve eaten in Italy. I thought it better to do an Anglo version and very happy I am with it indeed. If you don’t have garlic oil to hand, then add a minced garlic clove or two to the ricotta and cheese in Step 3, and in step 4 simply substitute regular olive oil. And please read the Additional Information section at the end of the recipe before proceeding.

Nigella Lawson

Nigella Lawson · Nigella Summer

I think of these Swedish roast potatoes as being rather like sauteed potatoes on the stem: each one is cut into thin slices across almost right through, but not quite, and then roasted in buttery oil; as they cook, the potatoes fan out, like slightly fleshy crisps with their bottoms still attached. Traditionally, maincrop potatoes are used, but I love these made with new potatoes, too; in which case, Charlotte or Ratte, which are waxy-fleshed and taperingly oval in shape, are best. If you

Nigella Lawson

Nigella Lawson

Nigella Lawson · Nigella Summer

Forgive the tweeness of the title, but this is a soup of such sunny, mood-enhancing yellowness that it overcomes even the most pervasively innate cynicism. To eat this is to feel cheered; even cooking it gives me a lift. It

Nigella Lawson · How To Be A Domestic Goddess

Nigella Lawson

Nigella Lawson

Nigella Lawson · Nigella Bites

Only those who have never tried this raise an eyebrow at the idea. Don

Nigella Lawson

Nigella Lawson

“Eternity”, lamented Dorothy Parker, “is a ham and two people.” Now, for me the Christmas Ham is all-important, and the leftovers from it essential; I couldn’t tire of them no matter how many days on the trot I ceremonially unwrap the ever more crinkled foil parcel to cut another slice for a sandwich or shred the salty pink meat to drop into soup or a salad. But a proper joint of gammon does call, at least on its first magisterial outing, for a tableful of people, and I can see that those celebrating a smaller Christmas might find themselves subscribing to Parker’s acerbic view. Abundance is a wonderful thing, but wastefulness is most certainly not. And this, my friends, is where the ham hock comes in. If you’re having a very small Christmas, a fat and stubby ham hock will provide a modest feast for two, but that’s living a bit too dangerously for me, as you run the risk of not having the wherewithal for festive sandwiches on the days ahead. But a hock is such an economical cut, that I feel I can I advise a pair of them even if there are only two of you, and you’ll still have a reassuringly festive supply of ham should there be four of you round the table. And while we’re on the subject of festive reassurance, these hocks could hardly be simpler to cook. I don’t boil them first then roast them afterwards, as I fear the nuggets of intensely flavoured meat will start unfurling and then fall apart in the bubbling liquid which, on some occasions, hardly matters, but won’t do at all if you want to glaze and burnish them, so that they can stand resplendent on board or platter, a proper Christmassy offering. I cook them in the oven throughout, initially over low-ish heat with water, before brushing them with an easy glaze and studding them with cloves with the oven turned way up high. Now, you’ll never get elegantly thin, pink slices out of a hock, but the meat is fabulously intense and juicy, and you can carve it in parts, then cut the rest from the bone in fat chunks that just burst with supercharged savouriness. What’s more, the collagen-rich meat makes for a rich, jellied stock which, should you soak the hocks as stipulated, should not be too salty to turn into a cosy pea and ham soup afterwards. Soak 500g / 1 lb green split peas, then add enough water to the scant, strong stock to take it up to 2 litres / 1 ¾ quarts of liquid. Pour into a large pot along with the drained, soaked split peas, add the ham bones and cook until the split peas are very soft and rather less green, adding some little pieces or shreds of leftover ham to the pot to heat through before serving. A note on a few specifics: while you could use smoked ham hocks, I feel green (or unsmoked) is very much better for this recipe; the meat is more tender, and the stock it makes less overwhelming. I haven’t given a weight for the hocks, as they just come as they come, though they tend to have an average weight of 1.5 kilos / 3 ½ lbs each. I have specified bitter orange marmalade below, as although sweetness pairs so well with the saltiness of the meat, we don’t want all out jamminess; for the record, I use Tiptree Tawny Orange Marmalade. As for the other element in the glaze, I feel the heat of proper strong English mustard is called for here, as well as in the easy stir-together sauce that I serve with it. As for other accompaniments, I go for peas and potatoes – baked if I’m eating this on Boxing Day, or just plain steamed (or boiled) smaller spuds if it’s Christmas Eve – and I strongly recommend some crunchy pickled red cabbage on the table, too. Finally, I must tell you that these hocks are not just for those celebrating small-scale this year: should you be spending your Christmas away from home, you can also roast a hock or two like this when you get back so that you’re not left in the awful position of having no Christmas ham in the fridge for the remainder of the season. For those in the US, you may struggle to find cured but unsmoked ham hocks. I wouldn’t recommend using a smoked one in its place – the standard US smoke is too intense for this recipe.

Nigella Lawson