Nigel Slater belongs in a tiny group of people who are truly beloved, unique and irreplacable (other members include Stephen Fry and David Attenbrough). In a huge simmering vat of food writers, only one is perfectly seasoned. His charming descriptions of food and his serious yet simple recipes effortlessly convey what Real Food is about; pleasure.
In his autobiography, Toast, Nigel describes a childhood remembered through food. From an early age he displayed an aptitude for cooking that, as the book details, often went unnoticed. “I really wanted to be a chef, I wanted the checked trousers and the big hat.” So after four years studying food tech, he went to work as a chef. Anyone who’s worked in kitchens knows they are often quite unpleasant environments. Gordon Ramsay, Britain’s most famous (and for some reason actually popular) chef, is a crude, profane and violent bully. Nigel in contrast, is thoughtful, friendly and incredibly nice, he doesn’t seem like someone who would enjoy the professional kitchen environment. “I was lucky. I worked in small places where there were only three or four cooks. It was at first an enjoyable experience, I liked the people I was cooking with. When I tried to move to a larger, I suppose a more high powered environment, then I really lost my way.” Professional kitchens are often fairly scary and overtly, aggressively masculine places. “It was very aggressive. Also very laddish, very boysy, very sexist, which I didn’t enjoy. But also I think I was out of my depth from a professional point of view, because there’s a difference between cooking, which I was doing previously and which I absolutely love doing, and getting very smart high-powered food out to a restaurant that’s very busy, it’s totally different.”
To the relief of cooks everywhere, Nigel soon made the move from cook to writer. He began testing recipes for a new food magazine, A La Carte, after his editor liked what he was writing in his testing notes, he wrote a few pieces for the magazine. “Then I heard on the grapevine that British Marie Claire was launching and I just wanted those pages, I loved French Marie Claire and I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to do.” Even though he was completely unknown, they decided to take him on. What followed was, to the delight of cooks everywhere, ten published books and numerous magazine and newspaper columns.
Lot’s of Nigel’s book titles use the word “Real.” He’s written Real Food, Real Cooking, Real Fast Food and more. It’s a simple yet powerful description of his cooking. Using simple techniques and good quality ingredients is part of it, but he revels in writing about the joy of cooking. “I want people to understand the pleasure that there is in cooking. I’ve always felt, even when I was a kid, that making something for somebody, putting it in front of them, eating it with them or watching them eat it. I think it’s a huge huge pleasure, what it does to your sense of wellbeing to actually make a meal for someone is such a life-enriching process.” Nigel doesn’t just find pleasure in the finished dish, he always writes of the excitement and enjoyment in the entire process of making a meal. The greedy licking of fingers as you feverishly peel mangoes, the smell of garlic filling the kitchen. Unlike the clinical and cold writing of some better known chefs, Nigel’s focus on the pleasure of cooking makes his writing unfailingly pleasurable to read.
The UK’s food culture has transformed in the past decade. The souffle has risen quite spectacularly, to the point that now, not only are there hundreds of food writers, but the qualification of being married to a chef is enough to net you an eight book deal. With limited shelf-space, the marketable chefs are promoted, while the the others sit at the back of the cupboard like a jar of forgotten yet delicious apple chutney. I wondered how Nigel felt about this cornucopia of food writers? “I don’t think it’s a bad thing, the harm is, I suppose, when somebody hasn’t done their homework and they publish recipes that aren’t workable or they’re not tested. You do see a few where you wonder where they’ve come from, or should I say you actually know where they’ve come from. There’s a lot of people who don’t quite understand about copyright.”
One inescapable element of UK food culture, however fringe, is that gastronomic search for perfection. The quest for culinary ecastasy, spearheaded by pioneering gastronaut Heston Blumenthal of The Fat Duck. This is the use of foams, water baths and mystical alchemy to distil the very essence of flavour. The contrast with Nigel’s lack of fussiness is obvious, how does he feel about this gastronomic revolution? “It certainly is interesting and I don’t have a problem with it if people enjoy that sort of eating, and to a certain extent I suppose I do. The fact that I haven’t been to The Fat Duck probably says an awful lot. But it is very interesting it really is, and whilst I would never put it down, it’s just not something that interests me. I much prefer just sitting round the table with people eating something delicious. Rather than taking it to pieces and analysing every last detail of it. But if you’re in the pursuit of some sort of restaurant perfection, which I think Heston is, then fine all power to you.”
One of the delights of Nigel’s writing, particularly his columns, is the conversational style they’re in. It invites replies and correspondence, something he recieves in abundance. I wanted to know if he ever tries the recipes people sends him. “Sometimes, and sometimes they’re very delicious. Or they will offer an idea about something I’ve made, they make it but then they go off piste and say no I did this or I did that.” Does he try the adaptations? “Sometimes, it depends what it is, last Sunday I’d done a recipe for fig tarts in The Observer, by 1:00pm somebody had sent me a photograph of the tart they’d made, but they’d made just one big one instead of lots of little ones, and I thought yeah that’s a very nice idea.”
More than just being a great writer, Nigel is a fantastic cook. His recipes don’t just make you excited about cooking, they taste wonderful. From his absolutely extraordinary ‘Lentils with Cream and Ginger’ (Real Cooking) to the sublime ‘Stove Top Dauphinoise with Pancetta and Rocket,’ (Real Food), he is a fabulously talented cook. I asked him what he thought makes some people truly great cooks. “I do believe some people are natural cooks, you’d be amazed at the number of people who will read a cookbook or a magazine, they’ll look at a recipe and they’ll think ooh yeah I’ll have a go, then they close the magazine and they’ll make it. They just cook, it’s part of their DNA. They know when something’s going to work, they know how much of something to put in, they perhaps haven’t even been taught to cook.” It’s innate? “Yeah. Sometimes I look at people and I just think I bet you’re a great cook. You can just tell, other people need to be told every last detail, and the scary thing is, people follow your recipe to the letter and that is slightly worrying, when you say cook something for 25 minutes - and everybody’s ovens are different - they take it out after 25 mins and it’s still raw and they think the recipe doesn’t work.”
As our conversation drew to a close, I felt priveliged and honoured. Nigel Slater is more than just a national treasure, he is everything that is good about cooking. He makes cooking fun and pleasurable, not by shouting at you or ramming his message down your throat. Through exqusite recipes, thoughtful prose and empassioned greed, he defines everything that I love about cooking. Before letting him go I had to ask him what he was cooking that evening. “Pork chops with red chard,” he replied, something I’ll buy from the market as soon as I can, because frankly, anything that’s good enough for Nigel Slater, is good enough for me.
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