Nigella’s done it again: she’s confused pasta for bread. Last time she was slathering Marmite over spaghetti, now it’s peanut butter. All across the UK, Italians are clutching at their hearts and collapsing.
It’s a strange move for someone who once felt compelled to teach the nation how to, er, make toast, but apparently it’s all been done with the best of intentions. Lawson’s “dreamy, creamy peanut butter pasta” comes as part of a series of budget-friendly recipes she’s dreamt up for Ocado. I read it’s a family favourite; you begin to wonder if everything’s all right at home.
And then my editor asked me to attempt it. Look, I thought, fire me if you have to, but there’s no need to poison me while you’re at it. Still, I have a mortgage, so I gave it a go. Reading the recipe is to be reminded of Lawson’s particular — and wildly popular — brand of kitchen kitsch: one must open the required bag of baby spinach “with gusto”. A tea towel is needed, but “not a terry towelling or waffle one, just a smooth, thin one”. Well, of course, good Lord. Boiling water will rise up “fizzingly”. “Thereby” is used. Ocado, I suspect, aren’t strict on word counts.
Things began inauspiciously, though. Well before I was obliged to spit on my terry towelling in disgust, Nigella asks for two-and-a-half litres of water from a freshly boiled kettle; my kettle — and yours probably — cannot hold this much. Oh dear, I thought, no-one’s tested the recipe. It did not bode well. Mind you, I’d got off to a bad start from the off: for full Ocado vibes, I should have shopped in M&S or Waitrose, but on Tuesday I popped into Waitrose for a pot of cream and some mixed herbs and once I’d chucked in a bag for life, it came to about fifty quid, so (thereby) I stuck to Aldi. This proved an error of judgement — mine, bafflingly, sells coconut halves stuffed with peanut butter, but no actual jars of the stuff.
I persisted. Corner shops help. Besides, there were other worries: did I really want to stomach pasta that was only on the hob for a couple of minutes? I’m all for al dente, but...
Nigella Lawson is Nigella Lawson, though. She has her devotees for a reason. Accordingly, I followed her recipe resolutely — you can find it in full here — whipping up three dollops of the brown stuff with pasta water, spinach, chilli flakes, garlic and thyme.
“Christ, the things I do for journalism,” I muttered at the congealed mess before me, wondering where in the kitchen the Pulitzer would look best. But just as I contemplated this stool sample of a dish before me, stirred (also with gusto) it transformed into a smooth emulsion. Glowing red flecks of chilli and green hints of thyme flickered appealingly. I might actually want to eat this, I thought, and then considered if I should call the GP or a therapist first.
Try it; 10 minutes for an experiment is not such a lot of time to lose. The truth is, the dish is very… fine. Actually, Nigella’s method for cooking the pasta is terrific — far less gas is used and it frees up hob space to boot. Once it’s plated, the sauce is a thin thing; a ragu this ain’t. It is inoffensively peanutty, with a taste not dissimilar to — and I realise this will come as a shock — peanut noodles. Pasta is a hardy partner, it can handle a lot. The spinach and lemon keep it fresh, but the chilli could be doubled, and the paprika is a must; it’s doing a lot of the heavy lifting here in terms of flavour. I like that most of the ingredients can be kept in the cupboard, called on as and when. And while I’m not sure of its nutritional value, peanut butter is famously full of the good stuff. Basically, it’s a perfectly fine — albeit surprising — midweek supper dish. “Dreamy” is a stretch — but it wasn’t nightmarish, either.
