Mother would buy wooden caskets of Turkish delight and crystallized figs, sugared plums, and jars of cherries in brandy. I have always worked with the stuff; first in restaurant kitchens, and then as a food writer. Just wanted to hug him. Salisbury Playhouse. Sometimes he would buy their records and play them on Sundays after I had listened to my one and only record—a scratched forty-five of Tommy Steele singing “Little White Bull.” The old man was inordinately fond of his collection of female vocals. Unshakable. One was fired just because the frost got at Dad’s dahlias. The kitchen would be warmer than usual and my mother would have that I’ve-just-baked-a-cake glow. There is no point in asking Auntie Fanny, who is by now quietly wetting her pants. Once it was cold, the custard was covered with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and whole, blanched almonds. When I was eight my mother’s annual attempt at icing the family Christmas cake was handed over to me. Neither Fanny nor Mum has eaten spaghetti before, and come to think of it neither have I. His eyes have gone glassy and he puts his fork back down on his plate. Our payment security system encrypts your information during transmission. First, the things I like about this book--Nigel Slater obviously loves food and writes incredibly vividly about food. A half hour later the phone rang. (By sheer chance, an old acquaintance of my father’s asked my brother if he was from the first or second marriage. He is the Proust of the Nesquick era. However much she hated making the cake we both loved the sound of the raw cake mixture falling into the tin. Most of the pasta falls down Fanny’s skirt, a little of the sauce gets caught on her bottom lip. Peel the skin off the mackerel and flake into a bowl. My father never went to church, but said his prayers nightly kneeling by his bed, his head resting in his hands. He let me weed the front of the borders where we had planted daisy-faced mesembryanthemums that only came out in the sun and balls of alyssum and drifts of pink and white candytuft. His books combines thoughtful comment with superb recipes for food that people really eat. The strange thing is that none of us really eats much bread and butter. Ask anyone about the foods they grew up with and you will unleash a torrent of (mostly) happy memories. He also serves as art director for his books. Reviewed in the United Kingdom on August 20, 2012, '14 September 2003. As the water comes back to the boil he tries to push the spikes under the water. “Will I like it, Daddy?” I ask, half hoping he’ll change his mind and Mum will cook us all some chops. This will be especially interesting to those familiar with English food and treats. I am nine now and have never seen butter without black bits in it. They were made with neither love nor joy. One bitterly cold day, I came home to a hall that smelled of warm biscuits. Both my editor and my agent, the only two people to see the then-unfinished manuscript, admitted they had both been brought to tears. One day my father came home from work, and even before he had taken off his coat he grabbed one of our jam tarts from the wire cooling rack. “It’s about the story,” she said. You can’t smell a hug. Celebrity chef and writer Nigel Slater, 61, said he cried in the arms of Nigella Lawson during the press event for the new West-End play Toast, based on … This one really takes the cake. But as he slowly loses the battle, Nigel finds a new outlet for his culinary talents, and we witness the birth of what was to become a lifelong passion for food. Overloaded with work, we put the idea of the memoir on the back burner.Forget salt and pepper, garlic and lemon. She would use a metal spoon, which acted as an effective alarm clock as it was scraped against the side of the old pan. “Quick, get the plates, they’re getting away.”We all sit there staring at our tumbling piles of pasta on our glass Pyrex plates. Nigel Slater OBE (born 9 April 1956) is an English food writer, journalist and broadcaster. I decided to take a chance and made the piece uninhibitedly personal. While this book does provide insights into the making of a great food writer, it more powerfully uses foods to evoke memories and make sense of loss and healing. . In Wolverhampton, Arctic Roll was considered to be something of a status symbol. I put a couple of spoonfuls of jam into each pastry case, not so much that they would boil over and stick to the tin, but enough that there was more jam than pastry. Nigel Slater’s Toast, at The Other Palace, is a nostalgic, elegiac & evocative play about growing up that satisfies all the senses. The food mixer—she was not the sort of woman to use her hands—was an ancient, heavy Kenwood that lived in a deep, secret hole in the kitchen work surface. There was a bit of charred shrapnel clinging to the edge of the tin which I tried unsuccessfully to prise off. Then there is the obligatory early morning trip to the market with your wicker basket complete with vignettes of the woman at the charming little cheese stall and going home with a laden basket and a crusty French loaf. She puts down the bread knife, picks up the butter knife, and again butters the freshly cut side of the loaf. However, not only could I not connect with any of the writer's experiences-both in food nor family-I also could not ascertain any depth of emotion from the writer. "An ingenious and touching treat." Dad took cuttings and planted seeds—yellow snapdragons, nemesia the color of boiled sweets, and those daisy-faced mesembryanthemums that only opened up when the sun shone—because it was cheaper than buying ready-grown bedding plants. Once a year there were Christmas puddings and cakes to be made. She never quite got the hang of the mixer. The turkey stew, a Boxing Day trauma for everyone concerned, varied from year to year, but the trifle had rules. This is not an occasional occurrence, a once-in-a-while hiccup in a busy mother’s day. Great buy and worth reading. It contained mysteries too. The way he would let me choose a biscuit—a Bourbon, a ginger nut, even a caramel wafer—from his lunchbox and the way he never turned his back on me when he was drying himself with his frayed green-and-white-striped towel.Jam TartsA great deal was made of my being tucked in at night. The awkward, though ingenious, mixer cupboard was impossible to clean properly, and in among the layers of flour and icing sugar lived tiny black flour weevils. Arctic Roll was a sponge-covered tube of vanilla ice cream, its USP being the wrapping of wet sponge and ring of red jam so thin it could have been drawn on with an architect’s pen. Due to the latest government announcement regarding the coronavirus pandemic, Nigel Slater’s ‘Toast’ Live has been cancelled. Parma Violets were for old ladies and barley sugars were what your parents bought you for long car journeys. He’s trying to poison me,” she wails. You wouldn’t think a man who smoked sweet, scented tobacco, grew pink begonias, and made softly-softly trifle could be scary. They had to be filled with raspberry jam, never apricot because you couldn’t see the swirl of jam through the glass bowl the way you could with raspberry. The morning after the piece, now called “My Life on a Plate,” came out, Louise Haines, my literary editor who had worked on all of my cookbooks, called to say that she had read the story and thought I should write it as a book. They simply had to be done. It was here she bought the ham that the young assistants in long white aprons would cut to order from the bone; slices of white-freckled tongue for Dad and tins of peaches and thick Nestlé’s cream for us all. the writing of each passage is so clever, it reminded me very much (in my opinion) of reading something written by Alan Bennett, of whom I love reading his work. ISBN -13 978-0-00-779127-9 Fourth Estate, London 2003; Harper Perennial 2004; Gotham Press, New York 2005, 2006; Piper Verlag, Berlin, 2005, 2006. . I watched the way he tied the clematis up when the string broke once in the wind, and when he used to pee on the compost. And then I remembered the first letter that popped through my door after Toast hit the stores in England. Nigel’s likes and dislikes, aversions and sweet-toothed weaknesses, form a fascinating backdrop to this exceptionally moving memoir of childhood, adolescence, and sexual awakening. Josh would take me around the borders, getting me to name as many plants as I could and would tease me when I confused azaleas and rhododendrons. Nigel Slater is one of the best cook-writers around. "Poignant...direct...unsentimental....His memory for the minutiae of food fashions since the 1960`s is phenomenal. Secure. Her hands started work with the rolling pin, then, once the ball of pastry was flat, I would take over, pushing the pastry out into a great thin sheet. “I think it must be done now,” says my father twenty minutes later. I handed the column in. Reviewed in the United States on March 26, 2014. It was irritating to not understand aoubt what foods he was talking about, but I pushed that to the side. But if you could, I reckon it would smell and sound of warm bread-and-butter pudding.Sherry TrifleMy father wore old, rust-and-chocolate checked shirts and smelled of sweetbriar tobacco and potting compost. As treats go, this was the big one, bigger even than a Cadbury’s MiniRoll. Carols or not, it always sank in the middle. When the water finally boils my father shakes the strands of pasta out of the blue sugar paper that looks for all the world like a great long firework, and stands them in the bubbling water. The last bit is not so good, when he covers his adult life and talks more about being a chef (it starts to sound like Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential - which is a tired genre). Previous page of related Sponsored Products. As he tried to swallow and his eyes filled with the sort of tears a man can only summon when he has boiling lemon curd stuck to the roof of his mouth, I am sure that I saw the faintest of smiles flicker across my mother’s face.Spaghetti Bolognese“We . Finish reading Toast, Nigel Slater's memoir of his childhood. Warm. Winner of six literary awards, including the National Book Awards British Biography of the Year it is by turns funny and desperately sad. I think it must be off.”. There were times, especially toward the end of writing, when I questioned the appropriateness of such a project. In each chapter, as he takes readers on a tour of the contents of his family’s pantry—rice pudding, tinned ham, cream soda, mince pies, lemon drops, bourbon biscuits—we are transported…. Warm sweet fruit, a cake in the oven, woodsmoke, warm ironing, hot retriever curled up by the Aga, mince pies, Mum’s 4711. The idea behind the wave effect of her icing was simply to hide the fact that her attempt at covering the cake in marzipan resembled nothing more than an unmade bed. Everyone liked Josh, Mum thought he was “such a good-looking young man, as bright as a button,” and Dad seemed more happy with him than he had been with the older guys who used to leave almost as soon as they had started. A house that smells of apple crumble. Immediately I gabbled at her, saying that I was sorry, I knew it was too intimate and was out of style. She always buys unwrapped, unsliced bread, a pale sandwich loaf without much of a crust, and slices it by hand. oh my god, 10,127 views! “It’s grated cheese, Percy Salt said you have to sprinkle it over the top, it doesn’t work if you don’t.” Now we’re talking. Toast is the story of Nigel`s childhood and adolescence told through food. And most importantly, how come cold cardboard tasted so good? She would weigh the flour, the butter, the bit of lard that made the pastry so crumbly, and let me rub them all together with my fingertips in the big cream mixing bowl. You should have seen the tears the day Alma Cogan died. Reviewed in the United Kingdom on July 9, 2019. Food has been my career, my hobby, and, it must be said, my escape. Nigel Slater quotes Showing 1-30 of 33 “It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you. Even when she got to the point where she carried her Ventolin inhaler in her left hand all the time. We took the steel cookie cutters, rusty, dusty, and cut out rings of pastry and pushed them into the shallow hollows of an even rustier patty tin. “What’s that you’ve got there?” asks Mum. I loved our visits to Salt’s like nothing else. Sometimes, she would hold her hand to her chest and close her eyes for a few seconds. Bitter Honey: Recipes and Stories from Sardinia, Life After America: A memoir about the wild and crazy 1960s. just try a bit of it. She was a chops-and-peas sort of a cook, occasionally going so far as to make a rice pudding, exasperated by the highs and lows of a temperamental cream-and-black Aga and a finicky little son. My mother would remember just before she put the final spoonful of brandy into the cake mixture, then take half an hour to find them. Didn’t want it to end. This was a book group choice and not something I'd normally read. For a boy certain things were off-limits. At first it was all straightforward enough. I peel away the piece of paper that is covering the holes and shake the white powder over my sauce. Why not turn it into a proper feast? At one point in the book, more food seemed to come up rather than go down. I loved the way the lemon soaked the sugar but never quite dissolved it, so you got the soft pancake, gritty sugar, and sharp lemon all at once. When my agent told me that my little book was to be published in the United States I asked simply, “Will it work there?” I was convinced the brand names, the food references, and, in some way, the lifestyle of middle-class England may seem unfamiliar and distant. First, it was Kathy Kirby, although he once said she was a “bit ritzy,” and then Petula Clark. Buying sweets, chocolate, even ice cream, was shot through with more politics than an eight-year-old should have had to contend with. Sometimes he would hoist me up on to his bare shoulders and charge around the garden making airplane noises and pretending to crash into the trees. BOOK NOW. I can picture her now, desperately trying to harness her wayward Kenwood, bits of cake mixture flying out of the bowl like something from an I Love Lucy sketch. But the first 3/4 is fantastic as a piece of writing. She licks it off and shudders. -Nigel Slater London, 2004 Toast 1 My mother is scraping a piece of burned toast out of the kitchen window, a crease of annoyance across her forehead. A crumpets-and-honey sort of a man with a tight little moustache. There was an error retrieving your Wish Lists. But at least the reviews were glowing, so I was happy to give it a try, and read it fairly quickly. It was a tight fit in between the wall and the back of the bookcase. They were one of the very few treats my mother ever made for us. It’s all here—war, peace, love, courage, John Lennon, exile, redemption, hope, and laughter. Have always been a fan of Nigel, his recipe books and TV appearances but feel a real empathy with him now. Fri 20 Nov 20 - Sat 21 Nov 20 . My father was a different man when there was cake in the house. New York Times Some of the foods mentioned I had not heard of in years, but I clearly remember them. “You’ll have to get off now, my leg’s gone to sleep,” he would grumble, and turf me off onto the rug. None of which, I suppose, mattered if you were making Christmas pudding, with its gritty currants and hours of boiling. Food memoirs crowd the shelves these days. Prime members enjoy FREE Delivery and exclusive access to music, movies, TV shows, original audio series, and Kindle books. “For sale, one copy each of Marguerite Patten’s All Color Cookery and Philip Roth’s Portnoy’s Complaint, first edition, d/w, slightly stained.”. He would pull silly faces at every opportunity, especially when there was a camera or other children around. I drew the line at the fluffy yellow Easter chick. Then the jelly. Gentle, like her name, Kathleen, and that of her siblings, Marjorie and Geoffrey. In this household at least, Nigel Slater’s ‘Lazy Loaf’ recipe has been a lifesaver during lockdown. Something we hope you'll especially enjoy: FBA items qualify for FREE Shipping and Amazon Prime. The louder the trifle parped, the better Christmas would be. Yet most people were more than a little surprised that I should write such a personal book at all. BOOK TICKETS. Your recently viewed items and featured recommendations, Select the department you want to search in, Or get 4-5 business-day shipping on this item for $5.99 Box Office: 01722 320 333. She spreads the butter onto the cut side of the loaf, then picks up the bread knife and takes off the buttered slice. I was the only one who could see them darting around. I am not sure she could have done so if she wanted to. Reviewed in the United States on October 24, 2016. Nigel Slater is one of the best cook-writers around. I followed the Slater house style of snowy peaks brought up with the flat of a knife and a red ribbon. spaghetti, no, SPAGHETTI . Forget scented candles and freshly brewed coffee. They always turned up in a drawer, rusty and full of fluff. My mother was polite, quietly spoken, but not timid. . The downside to the way it's written is that storytelling feels rather fragmented at times. My mother’s way of slicing and buttering has both an ease and an awkwardness about it. Please try again. It's such an enjoyable book I regret reading it so quickly, bolting it in fact, the metaphor appropriate. Putty in their hands.Christmas CakeMum never was much of a cook. To purists the idea of jelly in trifle is anathema. He couldn’t have known they had come from the oven only a minute or two before. What I thought was a singularly personal account of a childhood scarred by the death of a parent, the imposition of a seemingly cruel step-mother, the feelings of frustration, exclusion, loneliness, and even sexual confusion, turned out to be anything but. So waves it was. It is like you have written my story.” -Nigel SlaterLondon, 2004Toast 1My mother is scraping a piece of burned toast out of the kitchen window, a crease of annoyance across her forehead. Anyone who has never put a really large pinch of salt in with the oats, syrup, and brown sugar is missing a trick.Sometimes, she would leave a flapjack out for Josh too, and we would sit on his motorbike and eat them together. Fulfillment by Amazon (FBA) is a service we offer sellers that lets them store their products in Amazon's fulfillment centers, and we directly pack, ship, and provide customer service for these products. Or perhaps that should be the other way around. That, and warm freshly ironed tea towels hanging on the rail in front of the Aga. As I opened the kitchen door I smelled smoke and caught my mother tossing a batch of blackened flapjacks into the bin. It was their chewy, salty sweetness I loved. “Oh, Kathleen, I don’t think I can,” sobs Auntie Fanny, who then picks up a long sticky strand with her fingers and pops it into her mouth from which it hangs all the way down to her lap. You don’t have to eat it if you DON’T LIKE it.” Mum is yelling into Auntie Fanny’s “good” ear. “I suppose I had better DO THE CAKE,” she would sigh. Reviewed in the United Kingdom on July 15, 2019. Reviewed in the United Kingdom on August 2, 2015. It's not so much about food as a in-depth psychological portrait of a child, and ranks with the best of that genre. A silent trifle was a bad omen. Never silver balls, which he thought common, or chocolate vermicelli, which he thought made it sickly. I knew I could have probably have flat-iced a cake to perfection, but to have done so would have hurt her feelings. The resulting noise, a sort of squelch-fart, was like a message from God. His mother was a chops-and-peas sort of cook, exasperated by the highs and lows of a temperamental stove, a finicky little son, and the asthma that was to prove fatal. Cones filled with marshmallow and coated in chocolate were considered naff by pretty much everyone, though I secretly liked them, and no one over six would be seen dead with a flying saucer. Toast is Nigel Slater's truly extraordinary story of a childhood remembered through food. The front of the drinks cabinet housed his entire collection of books. Nigel is such a talented writer. Reviewed in the United States on November 19, 2016. A warm and twinkly-eyed man, the sort who would let his son snuggle up with him in an armchair and fall asleep in the folds of his shirt. He gave a tired but amused little snuffle when I once corrected him about the name of a rose that he had called Pleasure when I knew it was Peace. “Just try it.”“I think you should put some salt in,” chirps in Mum. Toast is a British biographical comedy-drama film written and directed by S. J. Clarkson, it is based on the autobiographical novel of the same name by the cookery writer Nigel Slater. 4 November 2019 – 9 November 2019. Toward the end Mum would let me flip one. Just big fat almonds. Reviewed in the United States on December 31, 2012. We never really bought the penny chews that Mr. Dixon had loose on the counter, though I did nick the odd licorice chew, the ones that came in blue-and-white-striped paper, when his back was turned. As the kitchen became hotter and more airless my mother would take her inhaler from the top drawer and take long deep puffs, turning her face away as she did so. If he had a plate of cake in his hand I knew it would be all right to climb up onto his lap. It’s good for the plants.” It was different, bigger than it looked in the bath and he seemed to be having a bit of a struggle getting it back into his trousers.He had a bit of a thing about sherry trifle. Adapted by Henry Filloux-Bennett and directed by Jonnie Riordan, it starred Giles Cooper as Nigel. It tracks his development as a young chef, and the story underscores the role food plays in our social interactions. “A man was killed in that one there—he got his overall caught in the roller and it pulled him straight through, flat as a pancake,” my father told me one day as we walked through the black hangar at dusk, its iron roof dripping and the stench of rust around us. Sometimes they are sad. Find all the books, read about the author, and more. Nigel Slater's comforting toast recipes Toast is a great go-to. . Don’t be misled by the picture on the cover. Otherwise we would never have known.) Percy Salt’s was the only place where my mother ran a tab. This was a treat for no obvious occasion. For all his soft shirts and cuddles and trifles I was absolutely terrified of him.The CookbookThe bookcase doubled as a drinks cabinet. Toast is Nigel Slater’s truly extraordinary story of a childhood remembered through food. Dad is waiting for the water to boil on the Aga. At Christmas, Dad bought himself metal trays of Brazil nut toffee with their own little hammer from Thorntons, while I got more cigarettes, this time made of chocolate wrapped in paper which went soggy when you put it in your mouth. The book was neat and small, like a slice of toast itself. Eating for England: The Delights and Eccentricities of the British at Table, Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef. Toast: The Story of a Boy... “I’ll come up and tuck you in” was fine. After viewing product detail pages, look here to find an easy way to navigate back to pages you are interested in. Toast begins with a recipe for mince pies and ends with it too, though Slater has made a big emotional journey by then, from a lonely nine … There had to be three different jams in the tarts. His hands flapped, his face turned a deep raspberry red, beads of sweat formed like warts on his brow, he danced a merry dance. While my friends made do with the pink, white, and brown stripes of a Neapolitan ice cream brick, my father would bring out this newfangled frozen gourmet dessert. Daily Telegraph A bestseller (more than 300,000 copies sold) and award-winner in the UK, Toast is sure to delight both foodies and memoir readers on this side of the pond—especially those who made such enormous successes of Ruth Reichl’s Tender at the Bone and Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. Toast vividly recreates Nigel Slater’s childhood through the tastes and smells he shares with his mother, culminating in the young Nigel’s escape to London. He licked his cigarette papers, tiny things with barely a pinch of tobacco in them, and rolled them into short flat cigarettes while he sat on his bike. It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you. Reviewed in the United States on March 9, 2007. Perhaps, like Nigel Slater, your formative years were enhanced by a doting Mum with a gastronomic bent. We never had spaghetti bolognese or Parmesan cheese again. Bring your club to Amazon Book Clubs, start a new book club and invite your friends to join, or find a club that’s right for you for free. The sort of man I wanted to hug rather than shy away from. Baking a cake for your family to share, the stirring of cherries, currants, raisins, peel and brandy, brown sugar, butter, eggs, and flour, for me the ultimate symbol of a mother’s love for her husband and kids, was reduced to something that “simply has to be done.” Like cleaning the loo or polishing the shoes. Mrs. Butler lets me wait while Madeleine finishes her lunch. Right now she has the bread knife in her hand and nothing can stop her. He and his stepmother did not get along, and his father died when he was still in school. This shopping feature will continue to load items when the Enter key is pressed. Food apart, it's also a very sexy book.'. That and his dreaded leftover turkey stew were the only two recipes he ever made. But to my father it was essential. So the sad, yellowing cake sat around until about the end of February, the dog giving it the occasional lick as he passed, until it was thrown, much to everyone’s relief, onto the lawn for the birds.Bread-and-Butter PuddingMy mother is buttering bread for England. Selection boxes were what you were given at Christmas by the sort of people who weren’t relatives but who nevertheless you called Auntie. Winner of six literary awards, including the National Book Awards British Biography of the Year it is by turns funny and desperately sad. Unshakable. Never was I happier than in Percy Salt’s at Christmas, even if my mother did once say he was getting “terribly dear.”. Suddenly it all seems so grown-up, so sophisticated. . How is it possible to spread the jam that thin? A few patches stuck on with a bit of apricot jam. I love the way it sings quietly in the oven; the way it wobbles on the spoon. It made the bestseller lists and stayed there for several weeks; then there was a flurry of inquiries about the film rights and they were eventually sold. Not me, dear readers. Unexpectedly, my father takes out a cardboard drum of grated Parmesan cheese and passes it to me to open. He said he was just “going for a pee. . Something went wrong. There was something about the way my mother put a cake on the table that made me feel that all was well. Having 2 sons of my own I felt so much for Nigel as a little boy who was made to feel unwanted and unloved. He used ready-made Swiss rolls. I don't live in England, so don't have the experience with their food. PW PRODUCTIONS AND KARL SYDOW PRESENT THE LOWRY PRODUCTION OF TOAST 'Extremely funny, elegiac, brutal and heart-breaking' Times Literary Supplement. They only cook twice a year but it always involves a bottle of something. Every child’s Christmas memories should smell like that. Three glass decanters with silver labels hanging around their necks boasted Brandy, Whisky, and Port, though I had never known anything in them, not even at Christmas. I love its layers of sweet, quivering custard, juicy raisins, and puffed, golden crust. Even when I was up for a medal. When she was expecting me. I think it was a subtle reminder to the assembled family and friends of how well my father’s business was doing. “Better not tell your dad I do that, it’s my secret way of getting the compost to work,” he would say, turning as he shook himself and did up his buttons. He drains the slithery lengths of spaghetti in a colander in the sink. Unable to add item to List. I can honestly say I could not put this book down, I read it in two go's it is so well written and funny that I'm sure we can all relate to in our lives. 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