And yes, the moment you(?)/I (certainly) have been waiting for. Nigella's website is at last relaunched and how!
Recipes, forum, Nigella's knick-knacks, you name it, it's there.
Pardon me, but I have more important things to attend to today. And tomorrow... and all the next days!
(We've been invited to a Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday, but to all you turkey diners out there, thanks for finding your way here, staying a while longer, and even becoming friends. And to Miss Velveeta in Kansas: hope that organic turkey was as succulent as it should be!).
Sophia Loren (wartime nickname: Toothpick (!!!))notoriously said: "Everything you see, I owe it to pasta...".
So without further ado I share her recipe for Spaghetti con pomodori with you.
Ingredients: 1 1/2 pound spaghetti 2 pounds tomatoes, not quite ripe, chopped 1/2 pound fresh mozzarella, thinly sliced 2 medium red or Vidalia onions (or less), thinly sliced 1/4 cup pitted Sicilian green olives, roughly chopped 2 tablespoons drained capers 1/4 cup minced Italian parsley 12 chopped fresh oregano leaves 2 cloves garlic, crushed Salt Freshly ground pepper 1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil Freshly grated Parmigiano cheese (optional)
Directions:
Cook the pasta until just al dente. While the pasta is cooking, place in a large serving bowl the tomatoes, mozzarella, onions, olives, capers, parsley, oregano, garlic, and salt and pepper to taste. Pour the oil over and toss gently.
When pasta is ready, pour it into a colander and quickly rinse it under cold water; drain well and add the warm spaghetti to the bowl. Toss to combine, remove the garlic if desired, and serve. Pass the cheese at the table.
Should serve 6.
Now can somebody tell me what the lady below eats? Oh wait, I know: chocolate.
Logically, I should end this post with a photo myself, but the only red garment I own is a nightdress. I think it's best for all parties concerned that I spare you my night-time apparel.
Yesterday I had a short but sweet run-in with Nigella. Her newest book that is. As a detractor of this book's cover, I now have to fess up that this book is the splendour of Christmas on paper.
My SO bought me said book as a Christmas gift, which is why, for the present, I am reduced to blogging about it, instead of devouring it from cover to cover. The food looks scrumptious, and though many of the recipes are familiar (rocky road bars, the Christmas ham, the Parma ham parcels, the choco pots, in fact I am told that almost half of the recipes have been sourced from her other books with a few new ingredients) to avid readers of her penmanship, they do work very well for the festive season. And at least, you now have a Christmas recipe compendium for the years to come. May I just say that Christmas has never been so luscious. And add that several of the recipes do not even require Christmas as an excuse?
Other things that stand out: the use of faux deer (yes, I too worship at the altar of kitsch), pretty ribbons, a lot of red, silky dressing gowns, some good styling and a recipe entitled girdlebuster pie. Instead of calling it a cookbook, they should push it as a night-table book for gluttons such as myself.
Expect a post on gammon soon (how can I resist the challenge?) and if you're up for the whole Nigella experience, then invest in this month's Red Magazine, which has the Domestic Goddess herself as guest editor. I am told that a 5-episode series is scheduled on BBC sometime in the next month.
On Friday, our little family enjoyed the Indian summer in the square near the school, as they were setting up a sjamanistic festival with sand sculptures, etc. while the children had fun in a teepee and jumped around on the stage.
On Saturday, we dropped by the aforementioned sjamanistic festival, and then headed off to our new canteen: "I Famosi", where Italian food is served the right way. And then we saw the best dance performance that we have seen this century. I add another clip and a recommendation: if you can catch anything by Akram Khan this year, then do!
The Chinese male dancer was absolutely exceptional. They received a standing ovation and as far as I can judge, they merited every second of it.
On Sunday, the beloved and I roamed the city after we awoke from our "Cointreaupolitan" stupour and had a delicious but healthy breakfast, followed by some cabinet hunting. We did eventually find a 1930s radio cabinet for our living room, with inlaid wood.
On Sunday evening, as I whiled away the time waiting for SO to return home who is watching one of Belgium's oldest and most prestigious banks being carved up, I came across this:
I would like to make it known that I take back everything I said last week about Nigella Lawson. Thank you, Daily Mail, for being the cherry on top of a wonderful three days.
Excuse me, but what happened? This was supposed to be my event of the year, the climactic apex, the stars and moon in the sky?
I mean, let's face it, thanks to my neurotic Christmas-impaired sister, Yule time is always a bit of a gamble in this family. The food is always indisputably good, the turkey incredible, and I could ramble on. The company less so.
Imagine my excitement, and the hard time I was having containing it, when Her Domestic Goddishness announced that she was pondering a magnum opus on that much cherished winter family fest.
Presently, the ink on the paper dried, and the tome is now ready to be dispatched through Amazon et al from 2 October onwards.
But, hold on, who was involved in the creation of the cover photo? What is this diminished goddess that I behold? Holding potatoes no less, not a turkey in sight, and invested in a colour clash of magnanimous proportions reminiscent of some of the tchotchkes that my Scandinavian relatives send me every year. Nary a cleavage in sight (pouts). Where is the sparkle, the sex, the Christmas tree effect? Where is Nigella, the snow bunny, in Salzburg? (sobs)
I guess I will have to wait for the book itself to feast mine eyes (and lest we should forget what it's all about, my palate). Oh, and this year, I will be having a Christmas potluck on 27 December, for all those people I know who loathe the family aspect of it, but who enjoy good food and good company. You have been warned!
The weekend is here, and lo behold, even the sun has put in an appearance for us sun-starved Western Europeans.
Time to celebrate, and what better way to do so, then by rubbing one's body with some frangipani oil, some Nigella and a new gadget.
It's been some time since I sent the high priestess of Domestic Goddishness some love. Bad girl. Her appearance with some pink (!) glasses the other day means we can all feast our eyes on her some more.
Yesterday, by the way, I put in some cooking time with her steak slice with lemon and thyme (Nigella Express, p. 40, methinks). A definite thumbs up on that one. Not much planning required (buy good steak, ensure lemon is on hands and some thyme growing in a window box) and you are already past the half-way mark in the daily 'what can I razzle up fast' race. Top it off with some excellent Italian olive oil, imported by sibling last month from some obscure organic farm in northern Italy and you have a winner. Sides? If you are not an absolute carnivore like myself, then feel free to steam some broccolini or sugar snaps or any other green crunchy vegetable that takes your fancy.
On that satisfying note, I worked on getting the latest gadget in this household to work.
As you can tell from the state of my hair, it took me a while. But now that it's up and running, holy mackerel, why did nobody invent this phone sooner?
I balked at the price of the new iPhone and waited for quite some time before buying it. But I was fedup of having to rush home after frantic calls for answers from clients on a deadline, meaning the munchkin had to be yanked away from more pleasurable activities under loud and tearful protests. Now I can sit in the park, play with the babe, check my mail and read word docs on a decent-sized screen. I could even update my blog, if I wanted to. And I get to listen to cool music at the gym, like Barry White. Hmmm, then again, maybe not, since the torturemeister has vowed to have me bingeing on cardio for quite a while...
So from Monday, it's school for the munchkin, fast-forward work for myself, and considerably more time at the gym than I would have ever dreamt was possible. It's all in a working mum's day's work.
It's been a few days since I stretched my blogging self, but frankly, what with the munchkin in overdrive, her poor mothers are still knackered. Luckily, there is such a thing as coffee to keep us poor female coffee junkies up and running.
And while I'm at it, may I recommend this little gadget from Nespresso (negligeable coffee, but cool gadgets) for delicious, frothy steamed milk? The Aeroccino has proved a revelation and we have been enjoying decent lattes since a few days. Who needs an (N)espresso machine anyway, even if they have *George Clooney* plugging it?
It's been a lazy weekend for us, with a trip to the movie theatre (more about this later), some Cointreaupolitans with a monstrous hangover to boot, a zoo visit at the munchkin's request, and some summer sale shopping (I finally found those silver, strappy sandals with a slutty heel that I'd been looking for, for 35 euros).
In other news, I recently worked for a customer who is redesigning an abbey in the Province of Limburg. One of the projects included translations for the herb garden, which they designed. It proved to be an interesting visit with some interesting flowers. We forgot the camera, like true tired dingbats, but here are some of the flowers that we will be adding to our patio:
California poppies
Pimpernel
Lady in the Mist
Passiflora
The munchkin also decided to request the removal of the stabilizers on her bicycle, so I spent some time running after her with a shawl wrapped around her chest. Needless to say she acquitted herself brilliantly of her balancing act.
On a food note, I can heartily recommend Nigella's Kermit the Frog hummus (200 g peas, 1 avocado, crushed garlic, juice of half a lime and some mediterranean crackers), which were doused liberally with some prosecco this evening.
Now for the most interesting event of our weekend: on Friday, we were lucky enough to attend an advance screening of Mamma Mia, featuring the interesting combo of Meryl Streep, Julie Walters, Christine Baranski, Colin Firth, Pierce 'James Bond' Brosnan and Stellan Skarsgard. We had the time of our lives. The movie had a brilliant pace, Meryl Streep proved to be a delightful Donna with some good pipes on her (also did the splits in the air and plays an awesome air guitar). Pierce Brosnan can't sing for toffee and the storyline is rather silly. But I am forever indebted to Julie Walters for her interpretation of 'Take a chance on me'. And I haven't stopped singing 'Dancing Queen' since Friday evening. I think we need to throw an Abba party, once this movie comes out in Belgium. Any takers?
On this happy note, I leave you with some clips from the movie:
The lovely ladies at Grace the Spot and Dykes and the City were discussing their top 5 of famous people to have an affair with (if the opportunity would present itself of course). I thought about that for a second, and the usual suspects came to mind.
So here's my top 5 (nothing new, as I've featured them all in one or other post on this blog already). I'm so boring.
1. Nigellaaaah (Lawson, of course, because that expanse of creamy skin, those silky brown eyes, and her body just do it for me (and I don’t care what the Daily Mail says about her knees))
2. Sophia Loren (all that goodness, and it’s all due to pasta)
3. Tilda Swinton (again, the white skin fetish)
4. Emma Thompson (for a lark!)
5. Marcia Cross (more white skin, alas).
*looking at my tan and freckled blonde SO as I type this* And here's yet another Nigella photo: just because. Nah.
Care for another lashing of lust? I'm sure you do, I do.
How can you not adore her? I think that I'll just go eat something now.
The mothership (since that's what I call myself these days) volunteered for cake duty on grandparents day next week at school, conveniently forgetting that this would also require some baking.
Did a test drive today on a chocolate orange cake by Nigella Lawson. My undying loyalty continues.
What a bunch of eggs, ground almonds, sugar, oranges, cocoa, baking powder, butter and bicarbonate won't create. It tastes good too. Gluten-free. At least I won't be poisoning anybody.
Right out of the oven:
The finished product:
I'm still considering something ganache-like to steep it in, but I think I'll leave it at this for the moment.
The Domestic Goddess strikes again, conquering my heart and innards with an express coq au Riesling. This white wine is historically from Germany, but is also grown in the Alsace region in France (where this dish takes its inspiration from: coq au vin). I'll be honest with you: Riesling ranks somewhere up there with Zinfandel in the list of wines to beeline with a vengeance.
As I remember it, because the wine has since clouded my mind.
Take some garlic infused oil (make ahead, bung chopped garlic in some good olive oil) and heat in a flat but large pan. Toss in some 70 g of lardons (bacon strips in plain English). Fry until crispy. In the meantime chop a leek finely. Toss in with the bacon once fried to a crisp, until soft. Find yourself a kind butcher who will debone and skin 6/7 chicken thighs for you. Cut these thighs in 3 and toss in. Add 1 large bay leaf. Rip up 150 g of oyster mushrooms. Pour in half a bottle of Riesling. Drink the rest while waiting for your meal to be ready. Season to taste with freshly ground pepper and a pinch of good Maldon salt. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat. Cover and let simmer for approx. 30/40 mins until the chicken is succulent and tender. Eat the next day. Reheat and add some double cream, if you've got this artery clogging delicacy (from Jersey cows of course) hanging around your fridge.
If you're like me, and you didn't think of an alternative for dinner, have it the same evening. Top off with some nidi (yellow tagliatelle tossed in butter just before serving).
Pass out on sofa and leave SO to take care of the dishes.
It's winter and I don't know what I was thinking. Except maybe, that it is also the season of all things red, especially that luscious fruit straight out of the Garden of Eden, known as the pomegranate.
In recent years, this fruit has become somewhat of a fad, with marketing muppets peddling it left and right in various guises... Great antioxidant juice, etc. My mother loves to eat it alongside baklava, which she buys from the Moroccan and Turkish bakers in our outpost of the city.
My beady eye had spied a box of glowing garnet pomegranates outside the Pakistani grocer's off our main drag. The huge globes bore a promise of delicious juice. I obviously continue to worship at the altar of that domestic goddess, Nigella. So when I found the recipe for pomegranate ice-cream with double cream, my palate took over, ignoring the warning sign in my head, which said 48% fat equals coronary and cholesterol.
Easy to make, this pale pink gelato is heaven in a bowl. So if you're looking for an easy dessert, then look no further. This is it.
Now, usually I don't get on my soapbox about anything. In fact, I can be downright lazy when I want to. But here, for the first time, I find myself startled into action for something... well, rather embarrassingly silly.
Soooo, what has raised my hackles? A few days ago I stumbled on a tidbit of information on the www; namely that a goddess was descending upon us... sorta. It so happens that Nigella Lawson was venturing from her safe UK haven to the continent, to Amsterdam to be more precise. So you will understand that a measure of excitement overtook me as I pondered the possibility of being in the same breathing space as this icon. Needless to say, my hopes were soon dashed as I realized that all the tickets had unfortunately been snapped up by a bunch of Dutch and American people, who had some kind of ESP information about this event.
After a brief mail exchange with a very kind PR person, and a number of calls to some not so kind people, I realized that it was not to be. A true Cinderella does not get to go the ball moment.
But Cinderella persevered and so will I. Thus, I have no choice now but to ponder a petition with the title: Bring Nigella to Belgium. What say you? Would there be any interest? After all, it's not because we are a small blot on the European landscape, that we should be overlooked. So come visit, all you celebrities, we'd so like to have you.
AND HERE'S THE LINK TO THE PETITION. SPREAD THE WORD!
The domestic demi-goddess has conquered another hurdle on the path to goddishness. I've spatchcocked my first chicken. It felt like playing 'operation' all over again... I'll admit to being squeamish about anything that involves cutting through bones, delving into innards, etc. As you can see, I would have failed miserably in the butcher's business.
But voilà: two spatchcocked chickens are now comfortably resting in their olive oil-garlic-maple syrup-maldon salt-crushed black peppercorns-buttermilk and rosemary marinade thanks to Nigella Lawson. Hopefully they will provide a bunch of hungry lunch guests with a good lunch in combination with some butternut squash and cinnamon mash (it's the light version of the Thanksgiving turkey fiesta, as Turkey Day is X-mas here and our poor turkey is still being raised somewhere in the green pastures of Ireland).
Will report back on the outcome of this extravaganza. But as for preparation, this is an easy one.
Update 1: have had to wash my hands three times already since I keep on smelling olive oil on my wrists, every time I lift my cup of coffee (did you know by the way that vanilla syrup is an excellent way to agrement a dull coffee?).
Update 2: they loved it. Only one drumstick left. The chooks were devoured in no time at all. The meat was moist and succulent, the skin fried to a perfect crisp; the buttermilk was in fact hardly discernible, while the maple came through, as well as the garlic, pepper and rosemary. Definitely a recommend here!
To some of you, I must sound like some relentless coveting design junkie. The contrary is true. I simply try to find the best combination of form and function, so that my life becomes more comfortable.
This brings me to my next project: finding a set of decent cutlery. My plight became all the more obvious this week as I will be hosting the whole family on Sunday for my gran's birthday. Not only did I not have sufficient cutlery to go around (well, we have 18 people coming over) but some of it looked rather shabby (gasp!). Having searched high and low, I finally caved in and bought one of those easy Ikea sets (thus adding another different set to our current mish-mash of silver and stainless steel).
I do however passionately long, nay crave the beautiful Arne Jacobsen-designed cutlery by Georg Jensen. There is of course the slight drawback that every item costs approx. 25-65 USD (thus if one needed a full set for say, 12 diners, one would be spending the equivalent of the annual budget of a large African village, while being able to buy them a whole herd of cattle too).
But look at the sheer splendour of it. Matte stainless steel, a fork that still looks contemporary even after almost 50 years. And although the Philistines at the hotel for which Jacobsen originally developed the cutlery stopped using the cutlery shortly after its introduction (diner to waiter: young man, now bring me a 'real' fork instead of this toothpick!), it is still being lovingly manufactured today.
Of course, I could splurge on the salad set or the futuristic pie server, but this would mean that we would have to relinquish Nigella's salad hands, which we cherish so lovingly because of their cuteness.
Thus, this is a must-have, but which can only be justified by the purchase of a winning lottery ticket. Alas, no such luck, I think.
This week kicks off with the gorgeousness aka Nigella Lucy Lawson. Where do I start? The velvety eyes, the milky complexion, the va-va-voom cleavage... and of course, her delicious English and recipes.
A role model for puny little domestic demi-goddesses such as myself.
* A reference to the genius that is Little Britain
I'm a failed domestic demi-goddess, fallen from the heavens, here to threaten you all with bad spelling and too much food, an arched eyebrow or two and too many adjectives. Don't you just love me?
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