Nigella – through heartbreak, angsty adolescence and lonely London living, there was you.
It’s always been you. Wherever I go, there you are. A domestic goddess to be sure, but at the risk of sounding dramatic and almost certainly unhinged, you are also so much more. You are my shining light, my kindred spirit, but most especially you are my heroine in slinky silken bath robe.
Even in my darkest hours, I knew that only your soothing voice, luscious locks, and slattern ways could lift me up from the black depths of my despair.
When living in a disgusting hovel in London meant that most of the time I was too afraid to leave my dump of a house, or that I subsisted almost solely off of bread, bananas, and nutella as well as the occasional store bought falafel, your beauteous slovenly habits were often the only thing to get me up each day.
A bond like this – some might call it unbreakable. I like to think of it as extraordinarily symbolic. In the face of loneliness, hardship, and adversity, food overcomes.
Nigella, your techniques may be suspect and your sloppy form is undeniable but when it comes to your joy of eating, there is no question.
As a fundamentally lazy person myself, it seems only right that I tackle Nigella Lawson’s cookbook, Kitchen. If the goal is to cook the most delicious food I can with the least amount of effort possible, I am in safe and loving hands.
Please join me on my journey to cooking my way through her book and making Nigella my BFF.