How To Fail With Elizabeth Day - S5, Ep1 How to Fail: Nigel Slater

Episode Date: June 26, 2019

We’re BAAACK! As House of Pain once rapped in their immortal hit Jump Around, ‘Just like the Prodigal Son I’ve returned’. Yes, here we are for Season 5 of How To Fail With Elizabeth Day: eight sparkling new episodes featuring eight marvellous guests.And for our opening episode, I could not be happier to welcome the legendary Nigel Slater to the podcast. The bestselling and beloved cookery writer, whose books have adorned every kitchen worth its (Maldon) salt for decades, joins me to talk about his failure to be a proper chef, his fear that he let his father down and his failure to be a good friend. We also talk about sexuality, children, neatness, ceramics and whether or not he believes in an afterlife. Nigel was an utter joy from beginning to end and arrived in my flat for the recording bearing a bunch of flowers he had picked from his garden and a packet of green tea so delicious I promptly devoured it and had to order a massive packet of it online.Thank you Nigel, for being so lovely. I hope you all enjoy the episode as much as I enjoyed doing the interview - and if you do, I’d be so grateful for any ratings or reviews you’d like to give us. ***SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT KLAXON***I am thrilled to be taking How To Fail on tour around the UK in October, sharing my failure manifesto with the help of some very special guests. These events are not recorded as podcasts so the only way to be there is to book tickets via www.faneproductions.com/howtofail  How To Fail With Elizabeth Day is hosted by Elizabeth Day, produced by Chris Sharp and Naomi Mantin and sponsored by Teatulia. To contact us, email [e-mail] The Sunday Times Top 5 bestselling book of the podcast, How To Fail: Everything I've Ever Learned From Things Going Wrong by Elizabeth Day, is out now and is available here. Nigel Slater’s latest (wonderful) book, Greenfeast, is published in two volumes. Spring / Summer is out now and available to order here. Autumn / Winter is out later this year and available to pre-order here.   Social Media:Elizabeth Day @elizabdayNigel Slater @nigelslaterChris Sharp @chrissharpaudioNaomi Mantin @naomimantinTeatulia @TeatuliaUK   Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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Let's go seize the night. That's the powerful backing of American Express. Visit amex.ca slash yamex. Benefits vary by card, other conditions apply. Hello and welcome back to season five of How to Fail with Elizabeth Day. It is lovely to be here. I wanted to let you know before the first episode kicks off that just like Ariana Grande and Beyonce and I don't know the Rolling Stones I am going on tour. How to Fail Live is coming to various parts of the country in October. The tickets went on sale earlier this week and you can find the link on my website elizabethdayonline.co.uk, or I will put a link into

the show notes. The two live shows I did in London earlier this year were absolutely phenomenal. I'm not saying that because of me, but I'm saying that because of the audiences. It was a really special experience. It was so beautiful to meet so many of you. It was so empowering to talk about failure. And it was just a completely wonderful experience. So I hope to replicate that. And I hope to see and meet some of you very, very soon. And now, on with the show. This series of How to Fail with Elizabeth Day is sponsored by Tea Tulia,

my favourite new bar in London's Covent Garden. It's actually a tea bar where you can also buy great organic teas. As something of a green tea snob myself, I have to say their jasmine has become a cupboard staple in my house this year. More importantly, they sell tea cocktails made with infusions from their tea, which are very delicious and I might add very, very strong. There are books for sale too with selections by Tilda Swinton, Jon Hamm, Lionel Shriver and, well, me. I picked 10 books that have been important to me and the whole list is for sale now. They also have an excellent online shop and are giving 20% off everything to you lovely listeners. Just go to titulia bar.com

that's t e a t u l i a b a r.com and enter how to fail all one word at checkout. Thank you very much to titulia. Hello and welcome to how to Fail with Elizabeth Day, the podcast that celebrates the things that haven't gone right. This is a podcast about learning from our mistakes and understanding that why we fail ultimately makes us stronger, because learning how to fail in life actually means learning how to succeed better. I'm your host, author and journalist Elizabeth Day, and every week I'll be asking a new interviewee what they've learned from failure. Nigel Slater calls himself a cook who writes. It could just as easily be the other way around,

a writer who cooks. The way Slater describes food is beautiful yet unfussy, precise yet descriptive, straightforward and yet utterly profound. Mushrooms are velvet gild, lemon zest is freckled, mashed potato is measured by thumbsuck. His 2003 memoir Toast, which told the story of his upbringing in Wolverhampton, the death of his beloved mother of asthma when he was nine, and the difficult remarriage of his father, won multiple awards, was adapted for television, and the critically acclaimed stage version is currently showing at the Other Palace in London. Spoiler alert, you get a free walnut whip and you will probably cry. His current book, Green Feast, which is split into two volumes, one for spring and summer, out now, and one out later in the year, brings together Slater's simple, delicious,

plant-based recipes. For the last 26 years, Slater has been the Observer's food columnist, occasionally making a foray into television with a quietly civilising presence that is both understated and on your side. He is beloved by millions, but probably too modest to admit it. It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you, Slater writes. And I would counter that perhaps it is impossible too not to love someone who writes so brilliantly about what making toast actually means. Nigel Slater, welcome to How to Fail. Well, thank you. Gosh, that was really rather lovely. I mentioned there that you have been working at The Observer for 26 years. I bet you have had a lot of green inked letters in

that time from readers, aggravated at your use of garlic or something. Do you know, I always feel that I'm in the right place because the readers are mostly very supportive. I joined really when I was almost a boy. If you look at the pictures of me, I look about 18. Also, I was stepping in the footsteps of Jane Grigson, who was beloved by the readers and I think still is. So big shoes to put my little feet into but actually they've been incredibly supportive yes of course there is the odd bit of hate mail the odd horrible tweets most of which I ignore but generally no just lovely and are you a workaholic hmm good question Lovely. And are you a workaholic?

Hmm. Good question. I do work a lot. So I sleep five and a half hours every night. I don't put my alarm on. And yet I always wake at the same time, about quarter to five or six. I'm up very early downstairs and I'm working for probably the first three hours pretty much non-stop there's always coffee and it has to be in one of three mugs which I rotate according to the days of the week and they're very important those mugs they fit my hand perfectly and they're just what I want a mug to be and that is the busiest time of my day. I get more done in those three hours, the hours, I suppose before about nine or 10 than I do for the rest of the day. And do you have an afternoon nap? I'm so fascinated by people who don't sleep that much. I'd love to say no, but I do those off quite often. I will have a, oh, I'm just going to change my jeans or something or, you know, change my shoes.

And I go upstairs, sit on the bed and the next thing I know it's an hour later. I've just gone out like a light. And I'm asking this because I'm just nosy and because you walked in here and I know that you can't see this, listeners, but Nigel Slater is a phenomenally handsome, beautifully dressed and blemish-free man. And I just wonder, do you drink a lot of water? Blemish-free. I can think of a few blemishes. I do drink a lot of water, actually.

A lot of green tea. So do I. I'm so glad you said that. Okay. Lots of green tea. In fact, I've got some new spring green tea that has literally just been picked for you in my bag, actually. Thank you. From Japan.

Yes, lots of liquid. But, you know, I eat a huge amount. Well, I eat a lot of different things. So I'm not a great fan of a big plate of food. So piled up. Sunday lunch is not my idea of heaven if it comes on one plate. Yeah. I like lots of little bits.

I'm a bit of a picker, really. I think that's why Japanese food works so well for me, because you get lots of little bowls of delights. And are you one of those people when you go to a restaurant and someone else is ordering that you always want to taste their food? Well, you know, I do taste their food, but I hope not intrusively. You know, that fork that comes over and is going to spear that bit of asparagus you had your eye on for the last few minutes. I love sharing food. And I think I probably do always taste the food of the people I'm with,

taste the food of the people I'm with. But not in a sort of analysing way or a critical way, but just in the fact that I quite like eating lots of different things. And when people come up to you in the street, as I imagine happens a lot. All the time. Yeah, what do they mostly say? Do they mostly say, I love your recipe for field mushrooms? Yes, they do.

They love the recipes, they love the books, the films. I really don't mind. I know some people don't like it when they're approached. I honestly think it's like having your batteries charged. When people come up to you and say, I read your book, I loved it. One of my favourites was we're together because of you. I said, how come? Well, because the first meal that I ever cooked for him or for her was one of your recipes and we're still together. That's so wonderful. When people say that a portion of one of my books, there's a particular chapter actually in Appetite, was read at their wedding. It's a bit about what goes with what, things that work together. It's a real buzz, it's a delight. So I'm very happy when people come up to me, it's completely fine.

I'm so thrilled that you've come on this podcast because so much of your work seems to me to spring from a place of total authenticity, of you and your life through food and all the beautiful things you've just said there. And I have to say that the failures you sent to me were so incredibly well written and so moving that it's the first time I've read someone's failures before a podcast and cried. And I just want to thank you for engaging so deeply with the premise. Is failure something that you feel you have always dealt with in your life? Has it scared you? Or do you feel that it's just part of life? It is just part of life. Most of my failure, I had to really think hard about the failures, because on a daily level, it will be simply that a recipe doesn't work

as simple as that uh to be something that you've published that somebody contacts you and says you know what i think that wasn't quite right that is part of life these little tiny failures that sort of sprinkle their way through your through your existence but big, I'm not even sure I thought of them as such until this. God, yes, that really was. I got that wrong. Yeah. And do you feel that your failures have made you become more yourself, if that makes sense as a question? It does make sense. There's the person, I guess, that you know you could be, but you're not because you dwell on either trivial things or something major that you can't let go of. And putting my failures down on paper or even talking about them,

it doesn't banish them, they're still there, but it makes me realise that it wasn't the end of the world. And if anything, possibly some good has come out of it I'm quite happy with the person I am at the moment I'm actually in a very good place right now to be honest with you you seem it things are good and I do feel a little bit I suppose worried that it might appear smug but as I say I'm in a good place things have been going well for quite a long time the downside of that is I don't want to do anything that makes me step out of that because I feel I did have in some ways quite a

tough time earlier on and I guess I feel okay I've paid for it I've done it I've earned this I've earned the fact that things are going well and that I do wake up in the morning and bounce out of bed because I can't wait to get on with my day. I find the prospect of every single day exciting. It might be just that I have no longer will I do things I don't want to do. Even if that upsets somebody, if it lets somebody down. I know you want me at your party or your dinner party or your wedding, but I don't enjoy them. So sorry.

It would be far too easy to dwell on things that haven't gone right. So I'm just, yeah, I'm thoroughly enjoying life at the moment. We'll get onto your failures in a moment, but I'm very interested to hear from you what it is like to see your life played out on stage as it is now with the phenomenally talented Giles Cooper, who is a mutual friend of ours, playing you as a nine-year-old right through to your early teenage years and portraying some of the most traumatic and moving episodes of your life. What is that like? By now, they shouldn't be dramatic anymore. I've been through the book, you know, the words on a page. I've seen it as a TV film, a radio adaption.

It shouldn't still get to me, but it does. There are bits that are very joyous about that play. And one of the wonderful moments for me is the relationship between mum and myself, between Lizzie Muncy and Giles. It's so tender. It is everything that that relationship was with my mum, because it was all so fun. We had a good time. And this constant belief that she would always be there. Watching the two of them together, it really is like going back to those incredibly happy times. The difficult bit, I was there again last night. I walk into the theatre and every time I think, not this time, I'm not going to be upset.

But there are one or two lines in the play that yes I said them they were the worst things I have ever said in my life they haunt me to this day and Giles is saying them he is shouting them on stage and there's a bit of me that thinks why did I ever write that down why did I ever admit those were the last words I said to my mother before she died and what were they I hope you die and I never occurred to me for one second that she wouldn't be there in the morning never occurred to me she always been there and she was always going to be there. I'd never really understood how ill she was. So to hear Giles saying that to Mum, to Lizzie, is heartbreaking. And it never stops being heartbreaking.

Your mother was 40 when she had you, wasn't she? She was. My brother is 17 years older than me. And I know very well that I was a surprise. When I look at the family, it almost seems complete without me. It seems as if, yes, two lovely lads and mum and dad and then this little complication this little Nigel turns up when mum's 40 and in those days I think I believe it was actually different I think having now nobody bats an eyelid at having kids at 40 in those days I think it was quite a big deal yeah so and you

know mum became ill and I only saw her until I was nine I only I can remember every detail of my time with her but it was only a short time your first failure links to that and it's a really big one you said to me that your first failure was that you failed your father. So tell me a bit about that, because I know that you feel a certain way about having been born to your mother when she was 40 and potentially having exacerbated her illness. My father was somebody who went out to work and he came back and everything was done for him he didn't cook didn't clean didn't really do at that point much gardening everything was done for him he'd become very dependent on mum and when she was expecting me she developed this asthma

that became acute I can never remember a time when there wasn't an inhaler within an arm's reach, whether it was the glove box of the car, whether it was in her bedroom, there would always be an inhaler for her asthma. And I noticed that she was using it more and more. It was, I suppose, after she died that I learned that the asthma had come on when she was pregnant. I was thinking it was sort of, I'm pregnant, and that was it. It got worse and worse. I do worry that my father felt that had I not come along, she would still be alive. come along, she would still be alive. And this rock that he had in his life,

this person to come home to, who not only looked after him, but looked after this little boy, was there no more. And it was my fault. Because she'd probably still be there. The great tragedy of that is that you never got to have a conversation with your father as an adult because he died when you were 16. Yeah. I didn't have conversations with my dad. He was strict, quite Victorian. I believe that part of a parent's role is to fill your kids full of confidence to go out into the

world. He did exactly the opposite. He knocked all the confidence out of me. I was the hopeless child. I was the son that he was almost embarrassed to say was his son. He didn't want me to be the way I was. He didn't want me to do the things I wanted to do. I disappointed him. And I was aware of that disappointment every single day. So we didn't have conversations. Towards the end, I barely spoke to him. How much of that was to do with your sexuality? I have no idea. I was quite effeminate as a child I was I used to call me Nancy boy which I thought

was quite funny actually but he wanted a kid who was like my brother so tough light sport he wanted and this was the really important thing my father wanted somebody who would continue his life's work. And that wasn't going to be me. And I think when he realised it wasn't, the disappointment was so vast and so huge. When I didn't go out and play football with my mates, I would make fairy cakes with my mum. You could see the disappointment in his eyes. I think he genuinely felt I'd let him down. And it's interesting to me that you've chosen that as one of your failures,

because for me it seems very much he has the bigger portion of blame there. My dad had a difficult childhood. His mum, my gran, was a single mum with five kids. Her husband died in his late 20s. And she brought those kids up. They hadn't a bean. She was in the back streets of Erdington in Birmingham. Her job was, she worked in a dairy. She had these five children to bring up alone. There was no plumbing. There was a tin bath on the outhouse wall, which she would have to fill from the coal range. And the kids would get in one by one. An incredibly hard life for her and I think for my dad.

My dad wanted something else. And so he trained first as a gunsmith and then as an engineer and it was hard work but he really wanted something better than the way he'd been brought up his life's work was building up an engineering company in the midlands and he employed quite a few people and he wanted my brother to take over my eldest brother john john didn't want to he won't come to london so then his next hope was adrian my next brother no adrian wanted to go to australia He wanted to come to London. So then his next hope was Adrian, my next brother. No. Adrian wanted to go to Australia. He wanted to surf. Still does. Seventy. And I was his last hope. The son he didn't think he would have, but actually who might take over the business. This thing he'd built up. But this little boy wanted to make scones.

this thing he'd built up. But this little boy wanted to make scones. And I feel I let him down. I failed to take over his life's work, all his energy, his endless, endless hours of work building up that company. And I didn't want any part of it. And I think he was heartbroken. and I didn't want any part of it. And I think he was heartbroken. Do you feel that your attitude towards your father has changed as you've got older? No, I still think of him as somebody scary. I think of him as bad cop, mum was good cop. When I see him portrayed on stage or particularly in the film,

I get little prickles down my spine. I'm not happy seeing him again. There isn't going to be any forgiving because I think that much of my life, I didn't have any confidence. I in many ways still don't but I think I probably could have achieved a lot of things earlier had he given me his support which he didn't and also there was the violence I mean he he did hit me and worse than hitting me in a way he would send me to bed go, get into bed, and I will be upstairs to give you a good hiding. And then he didn't come. Every creak on the stairs, I thought was him coming upstairs to hit me. But very often he didn't. So thinking about him, it takes me to not really a very good place. And I'm afraid there isn't going to be any forgiveness, I don't think, possibly until I die.

It's shameful, really, but I can't. Do you think it left you with a feeling that you, Nigel, are unlovable in some way? No, it didn't. I think I'm quite lovable. You're so lovable, I'm so glad you said that. I think I probably am. I don't have any problems with that. No, I'm quite happy with being liked. No, I think I'm very lovable.

Have you ever thought of having children yourself? I often think about having kids. The problem is, I shouldn't really admit this, but I like things the way they are. I have the most appalling OCD. I mean, at home, everything has to be exactly as it is. Now, that doesn't go with kids. It would be their space, their room, and I wouldn't want them sort of making a mess of the house or something. That is not the way to bring up a child.

That's appalling. That is almost, you know, let Nanny bring you down and i'll say hello and then you go back up to bed i don't think i could cope with having kids around i don't think i'd be a very good father because i want to have so much fun with them and i want them to have a good time and not have the time i had so i wouldn't be very good at being strict. The moments when you have to take charge, I'd be hopeless. I just want to play with them and have a, you know, make them enjoy life. Whereas sometimes you've got to take things seriously. You have to study. You've got to cross the road carefully. There are certain things that you have to instill in a child. And I don't think I'd be very good at it. But I love having them around. They'd be like friends

to play with. Do you believe in an afterlife? Do you feel a sense of your mother still? Wow. I don't believe in an afterlife. I think that when you go, you go. That's it. But now you come to mention it, I've always thought that she was there. That doesn't work, does it? Because I really don't believe, I'm totally atheist, and I don't believe in an afterlife. But yes, I've always thought mum's looking. I've never actually put the two together and realized they don't make sense well I think that's probably a problem with the word afterlife and maybe I shouldn't have used that because it comes with so many religious connotations

but I think you can believe that someone's spirit and soul is still very much there well it's there because partly it has become part of you. Yes. So I think that, yes, in a way, mum is still here. Sadly, little bits of dad too, I think sometimes. But no, mum is here and she's part of me. And I would love the idea that she has seen how things have worked out because they have worked out. They have. And I would love her to know that. Because she never knew that. Do you sometimes hear her still in your head

when you're making scones or something, saying, put more flour in? Well, at the moment I do, because obviously I'm seeing her on stage quite a lot. So she is there. A lot of the lines from the play, things that she said, are constantly with me. But I usually know I don't. I don't think so. We often talk on this podcast about the notion of an inner critic. So that critical voice inside who tells you you're not good enough or not worthy enough. Do you have that voice?

And if so, is it your father's voice? It's not my father's voice. It's my voice. It's the voice that tells me I can't walk into that room full of people. It's that voice that tells me I can't get to the top of that escalator without falling. It's my voice that says I'm scared of heights or I don't like crowds. Anything I can't do or I think I can't do,

no, that's me. When I was a teenager and when I was aware of starting to disappoint my father, there was a huge separation between us. I knew that it was hopeless. I was never going to be the kid he wanted. And so I guess now that I've put that to rest and that I don't really care whether he's proud of what's happened to me or not, but I'm okay. What he didn't do ended up taking quite a lot of my life because I didn't think I could do things. I'd always say, oh no, I couldn't do that. I couldn't stand in front of a camera.

I couldn't present a television programme. Perhaps I couldn't even write a book at one point. That is well and truly buried. I've done it and I love doing it. And how have you managed to come to terms with it? Has it been the act of doing it or have you had therapy or have you just sort of sorted it out in your own self? I'd like to think that I've sorted it out myself. I haven't had therapy. Haven't you? No. Gosh, that's miraculous.

No. Gosh, that's miraculous. I'm afraid that no matter how much you tell somebody, how much you give your problems to them, when push comes to shove, it is you that sorts out your problems. And they have been helpful. They've been an ear to listen to it. But actually, you know what?

It's down to you. And I would like to think that everything I've sorted out and solved about my own life, I've done myself. When I watch Giles on stage, he's got this vulnerability, this sweet little boy. But what I also notice, he's got that core of steel that I think even little Nigel had. And I certainly still got now. It's there. I could be ruthless if I wanted to. I'm watching that on an almost nightly basis. I suspect that why I can do things now is because I have had help, albeit unknowingly.

things now is because I have had help, albeit unknowingly. So friends, colleagues, I mean, my best friend, James, who has worked with me for 10 years, he is the creator of all my TV work. He's the ideas person. I'm the guy that puts the words on the page because that's what I do it's all I can do but he has been there as not just a source of inspiration and ideas but also I feel I can do something if he's in the room so if I've got a particularly difficult piece to do to camera I will probably struggle with it but if he's there if, if I can see him, then I can do it. So I don't think that all of it is me. I like to think it is. This rock inside me.

I think a lot of it has come from other people. Is it too strong to state that looking back, you're grateful for what you went through because it gave you that steel and that capacity and it made you into who you are. I have thought about this. Is it a good thing that I went through all that? That I went through losing mum, went through disappointing my father, went through also embarking on a career that I shouldn't have done, or I thought I shouldn't have done. Am I grateful for it?

No, not really, because I suspect that that, whatever drives me, whatever keeps me steady, I think probably was always there. If you think that I knew my father wanted me to climb trees and play football, I secretly made cakes with mum. Now, I knew that if he found out, there would be trouble. He was appalled when I told him that I'd been to my cookery teacher at school and said, can I do cookery with the girls? He was horrified. I think he hoped the headmaster would say no. But I went to the sort of school where the headmaster said, yes, you can. I think there was always been that will there, that strong will. So no, I don't think it was because of the hard times. I think it was just there anyway. I was born with it.

You mentioned there that you embarked on a career that you shouldn't have done, which brings us onto your second failure, which is that you failed to be a chef. brings us onto your second failure which is that you failed to be a chef I so failed to be a chef I always wanted to cook I am never happier than when I'm making something for somebody to eat for a long time I was a waiter and I loved putting a plate of food in front of somebody I think I'd probably be a feeder if I was inclined I suppose because for you it's an expression of love like that that was the whole dynamic with you and your mother. It's an expression of love. It's an expression of saying, I care about you.

I just always wanted to cook and I'd never thought of anything else. And at the time that meant being a chef. I did cookery at school and I did very well at cookery. And the girls were very supportive. I was the only boy, but I had a good time. And I left with my sort of cookery O level and I went to hotel school. So part of that was a uniform, a chef's uniform that you had to send away for. And it arrived, this big parcel,

my future in a big brown paper package. And I put on the check trousers and the white jacket and the little necktie, the apron. And then I put on this white hat and I looked in the mirror and I thought I looked like a clown. This is ridiculous. I took it all off again and put it back in the bag. Went downstairs. My father said, oh, I thought you were going to come down in your chef's outfit. I said, well, you'll see it one day. And he said, well, we did pay for it. So I think we'll have a look at it. So I had to go and put it on again. From the moment that chef's uniform went on, I realized it was a mistake. When I went out into the big wide world, when I went on my roving apprenticeship I started in the most magical environment it was a castle we were allowed to cook in our jeans and t-shirts and an apron I was cooking with the most wonderful woman I fell

in love with and I was as happy as I think I've ever been in my life did you actually fall in love with her yes totally oh okay I proposed to her did you yes did you say yes no because I think I've ever been in my life. Did you actually fall in love with her? Yes, totally. Oh, okay. I proposed to her. Did you? Yes. Did she say yes? No, because I think she was on a long break. She actually went back into the original boyfriend. No, that wasn't destined to be.

But I was so happy. And I thought, well, if this restaurant's like that, then I'm a chef, I'm cooking, I'm fine. I'm going to go somewhere else. So I went to another starred restaurant and it was like being hit by a brick. It was a tough kitchen, sweary chefs, chefs who would come quite drunk on duty. There was a war between the chefs in the kitchen and the waitresses. There was bullying. There was the most appalling, sexist, bounteous to light a word. It was a shocking environment. It felt so wrong to me. Cooking was about feeding people. It was

about saying, hello, here's something to eat. It wasn't, it shouldn't have been in that environment. And I ran away. I told my landlady that I couldn't cope and I wasn't going to turn up for work. And I was going to get a ticket on a train to Cornwall. I was in Ilkley at the time. It was a very, very long journey. And I sat on this train, had to change somewhere, went all the way down to St Ives and stayed with my sister-in-law, who I adore. I felt so bruised. This isn't what I wanted to be. I didn't want part of this world. I didn't like the teamwork because it wasn't a team I wanted to be part of. I didn't like the fact that it wasn't about me giving something to somebody. It was just about making part of a meal, a tiny little bit.

And it was all about timing. And everybody was hassled and shouting and sweating. And it was ghastly. That wasn't what I wanted. So I ran away. I ran and lived in St Ives for a couple of years. I love St Ives. Is that where your love of ceramics comes from?

Yes, I think it is. I think it is. St Ives was a good place for me to be. I was selling antiques, which I loved. I was living with my brother's ex-wife, who I absolutely loved to bits, and her kids. And we ran a bed and breakfast. People knocking on the door saying, you know, have you got a room? And I loved it. The hospitality, looking after people, making sure they have a good time, cleaning their rooms.

It was great. The problem was the winter. Yes. There is no work. All anybody does in St Ives in the winter, I think, is sit around getting stoned and wife swapping there didn't seem to be anything else happening the pub played a big part in most people's life in the

winter and I thought this isn't it I can't do this I can't do nothing so I packed my bags and came to London my sister-in-law emigrated to Tasmania and I ended up on a friend's floor in London just looking for work. And how old are you at this stage? I'm early 20s so probably 23, 24. Was part of the reason you didn't like the chef's kitchen because it reminded you of a bullying dynamic with your father? it reminded you of a bullying dynamic with your father? Possibly. I think it was so alien. I'd never been in a situation where, to me, being a chef was all about creating some beautiful thing on a plate. It wasn't about bullying people and about swearing and about waving knives around and being this big macho guy. It wasn't about that. not all of the chefs were like that but most of them were so whether it reminded me of home I don't know it just felt wrong and I didn't want any part of it and I'm going to come back to what happened next in the Nigel Slater story but I wonder if you

think now from your you must have seen countless chefs kitchens and have been asked to eat in the most superb restaurants do you think that culture has changed because from an outsider's perspective it looks as if that macho system is still very much in place it has changed it really has and probably more so in the last three or four years than it has done it at any time. There are a lot more women in kitchens now, which is a very good thing. There's a lot, I think, more about creativity than about proving yourself. I think egos are now slightly frowned upon. There was a time when it was all ego, the most successful television chefs. There was more ego than there was anything else. That's

what their career was built on. And I think that now it's more about this is what I do, rather than this is what I am. Also, I think that the stories that are going around and have been for some time about bullying in kitchens are making people think twice about their behaviour. And I'm sure that there are people who regret things that they've done, but actually they have done it. They've got to live with that. It's not going to go away overnight. There must be kitchens still that are led badly,

led more by terrorism than by care and love. But I do think it's changing. That's the impression I get. So let's go back. You're sleeping on a friend's floor in London. And then what happens? I needed some work. So I knew it had to be food. It was never going to be anything else. Yes, I'd played around with selling antiques and selling pottery and making beds, but I really wanted to cook. And I walked past a lovely cafe, went in and I thought, this food looks great. It looks real.

And it looks like ingredients. And I thought, this is good stuff. And I said, have you got a job? And they had. I was probably there for six or seven years, very happily cooking, working front of house as well. Beautiful food delivered every day that we could work with. Very simple cooking, home cooking really, but the ingredients were the best that there were. It's quite an expensive cafe. It's no longer there sadly. And it made me realise that I'd just been at a very bad place and had gone through a bad patch, that actually there is a lot of joy to be had in the food world. We had a customer who I became very fond of.

And I knew that she worked in magazines. I wasn't quite sure what she did. And one day I was just chatting to her. And she said, I'm after a recipe tester. Do you know of anybody? I said, well, I could do that. I can work out whether a recipe works. So she gave me these recipes and it was a

fairly famous cookie writer at the time. And I had to make sure these recipes worked and I had to write a few details about each one. I gave them back to her and I did it in my time actually when I should have been working really. It was a bit naughty. And I handed them back to her and she said that this is lovely. I really like what you've written. Would you like to write some recipes for me, for the magazine? I couldn't believe my luck. So I did. And I remember that first recipe that was published. I remember opening her magazine. It was a glossy magazine devoted entirely to food and entertaining. And there was my recipe by Nigel Slater. And it was for a strudel. It was an

apple strudel, which I put stilted in because I thought apples and cheese work beautifully together and pastry and cheese is a marriage made in heaven. And that was the first recipe. And then she gave me pretty much a full-time position writing for her. Is it true that you invented avocado on sourdough toast? I didn't think that. I don't think I invented it. One of my early recipes was making toast, because I love toast, and putting sliced avocado on it. Now, I'd forgotten about that recipe. And then avocado toast became a thing much later, several years later.

And an American author wrote a piece about the history of avocado toast and said that the first mention she'd ever found of it was this guy in london called nigel slater actually become friend she's a novelist and i don't know whether i was but it seems to be well i suppose i don't know about that but no when when when Catherine Alcott said that, I was like, wow, did I really do that? Your final failure, and I know it took you a while to come up with your third failure. And I'm so glad you chose this one because I don't think very many people

would be honest about this. And it's something I'm desperate to talk to you about. And I'd actually just like to read out the paragraph. By the way, all of Nigel's failures are so beautifully written, I want to take this printout and frame it.

I'm going to ask you to sign it afterwards because each one is a beautiful vignette. So your final failure is, I fail my friends. And you wrote, I am a terrible friend. I forget birthdays and break promises and can be quite flaky socially. I'm sure my friends have lost count of the number of times I have failed

to do something I promised to. If you ask them to describe me in three words, I guarantee the word that would come up most often would be selfish. But Nigel, I don't believe that of you because you're so lovely and thoughtful. Oh, I'm so not. I think friendship, good friendship, it should be more about giving than receiving. And I think I receive a lot more than I give. My friends are so wonderful. I cannot tell you. They are the most important things in my life. And I suspect that they would probably do anything for me. Now, I like to think I would do that for them. So if somebody turns up and said, we need to talk, I've got to talk to you about something. I'm there.

I'm a good listener. If somebody said, should we have a dinner? Yes, absolutely. I'm there in a heartbeat. But if they asked me to do something that I actually didn't want to do. So, for instance, the words from hell, I'm having a dinner party. Would you like to come? Please come. Oh, please come to my wedding. I'm throwing a party. You've got to come. You're a big part of my life. No, I don't. I will not do anything I don't want to do. And is that because you don't like big groups of people? I don't like big groups of

people. I'm a bit scared of them. I struggle. I've done a few talks recently or questions and answers in front of groups of people. So I'm obviously getting better at it, but it's not my thing. This is going to sound so awful. But when I'm at, for instance, a dinner party, when I'm talking to somebody or they're talking to me, I'm listening for a while and then I kind of go down the rabbit hole. I go through the back of the wardrobe into some magical little place.

And every now and again, I say, oh, really? Oh, yes. And I'm not actually listening. You know, I'm in my mid-60s now. I do not want to waste one second of my time doing something that I don't want to do. And I am sorry, I really don't want to listen to you. I'm sure you're very interesting, but I don't really know you. You're just my friend's friend.

You're sitting next to me at this dinner. I just can think of a million things I'd rather be doing. I've now reached the point when rather than do that, I will say, no, I'm sorry, I'm not coming. Now, what sort of friend doesn't support their friend by going to their dinner party or going to their party or going to their, as I say, their wedding? It's so selfish. It's just my time and it's being taken up by something I don't want to do. And I'm not going to do it. But it sounds to me as if you're incredibly supportive of your friends on the most profound basis, which is one to one. And the fact that you

still have lots of friends speaks very highly of the quality of your friendship in that context. I think I have not lots of friends. I have a few friends who are very very important to me the problem is that you sometimes have to share friends I'm not terribly good at that I'm terrible at it and I so admire people some of my friends have been so generous and introduced me to their friends and are completely fine with us having a separate relationship and I'm very possessive I'm glad to hear that because I'm the same I'm extremely insecure about it so my big fear this is and I'm very possessive. I'm glad to hear that because I'm the same. I'm extremely insecure about it. So my big fear, this is why I'm desperate to talk to you about it. I've been really busy lately and I haven't been able to keep up as much as I would like with a lot of my friends. And I feel terrible guilt about that and a fair degree of shame actually.

And I think it's driven by obviously obviously, an innate desire to see them because I love them, but also a deep-rooted fear that I'm going to end up all alone. But you are my enlightenment now, because I don't think you have that same fear. You're fine being on your own. If that were the ultimate consequence, you would be all right, wouldn't you? I'm afraid I would. One of the joys of getting older is that I've realized that I quite like my own company. I go on holiday alone. I live alone. I mean, there are people around, but I wouldn't want to live with anybody else. The idea of having somebody around my neck would drive me crazy. You're fine for three days, but then please spend the other four days somewhere else.

You're not putting your toothbrush in my bathroom. I cherish the time I spend on my own. Once a week, I have breakfast in the same restaurant at pretty much the same table, and I eat the same thing. And that hour, hour and a half when I'm reading the paper or I'm reading a book, I've never had a book, do not approach. It's my time. When I go on holiday, yes, if I go to Japan, which I do for a month every year, I have friends that I see and friends I stay with. But really, the bits I love are when I'm on my own.

I don't have any problem with the thoughts of spending my years alone. And I probably will because I'm quite ruthless with friends who, you know when somebody you love dearly has got a new partner or a new boyfriend or girlfriend, you don't actually like them. Yeah. It's a real problem because I feel I should say, yes, of course I'd love to go out with the two of you when I know that I'm going to sit there fuming that i'm having to share my friend with this ghastly person i'm afraid i've i've reached that point in my life when i now just say no i'm sorry i'm not going to be in their presence

at all you either have me with me or you don't have me at all that's it so it sounds to me as if you've got healthy respect for your own boundaries which is really great i don't i don't know about that i suppose so the scary bit there is of course how close are you allowing people to get you know is this barrier sometimes i i feel that my life is a little bit like one of those bank clerks who is suddenly having a gun pulled on them and they press a little button under the counter and this grill comes down to protect them. I know I have that button there. So if I'm in a situation, if I think somebody's getting too close or somebody is getting, they're making me feel uncomfortable, I can press that button. Are you worried about the chaos that might ensue if you allow someone in? The chaos, yes, but also the fact that they might alter my life.

I have many friends over the years who I've seen change. And although I wouldn't want to say it to them, you're not the person you were before you became part of a couple. You're diluted. You've had the corners knocked off you. And you can't say that to somebody. I wouldn't do that. They probably know I think that.

But I don't want that to happen to me because I actually like the way things are. I enjoy being me. And I don't want somebody to come in. I think I don't want to compromise. So whether it's where we go on holiday, whether it's what we eat for dinner, or what colour we're going to paint in the kitchen, I don't want to have to take anybody else's thoughts into account. I want it to be my decision. As I said, I'm selfish. And I know you don't tend to speak about romantic relationships.

No, I don't. So I hesitate to ask you and you can just tell me to get lost but have you ever been in a long-term romantic relationship yes i have and i don't like it i'm one of those people that equates falling in love with having food poisoning please please may i never fall in love again. That's amazing. And it's funny when I see so many people searching their souls, searching their apps, everything to find this love. And I think, oh God, no, please no. It's down to selfishness. I've probably fallen in love, I suppose about half a dozen times, I guess. And then I realised that it isn't for me. It's going to tread on my

territory. It's going to make me change. I'm going to be a different person. What I've seen happen to my friends is going to happen to me. And also, I do have a very set way of doing things. And aesthetically, there are things I like and things I do not like, things I don't want to surround me, things I won't have in the house. And I know that they might appear if somebody else is around. I also wonder whether we as a species prioritise romantic love above all other loves. Because you clearly have friendship love in your life and a profound love of and with food. And maybe we're all just hell bent on this slightly panicked, frenetic notion of what romantic love is. And we should just seek out

a sort of more stable contentment. Absolutely. Marry your friends and fuck everyone else. I don't know. Have people sat and thought about this? About, do you need romantic love? I don't know. I just know I don't. Or if I do, it's on a very part-time basis. It's not going to be the most important thing in my life. Friendship would be the most important thing

and the love of friends. And also, I have to say, the love of food. Doing what I want to do it's all about nigel isn't it oh nigel i could talk to you for hours on end but then that would probably annoy you because you want to get back you're perfectly ordered home i like being here and i'm very grateful for being here it's just a joy I know that you will get asked loads for your favourite recipes and your favourite restaurants and all that sort of stuff. But I wonder if I could ask you, if you were only allowed to eat one foodstuff for the rest of your life,

every single day, what would it be? I would love to say that it's vegetables, it's fruit. I'd love to say it's fish because I adore things like sashimi. But I think it probably, if I had to choose one thing, it would be ice cream. What flavour? Oh, vanilla. Oh my God. I know vanilla ice cream, plain crisps.

Yes, Nigel was talking earlier about how his favourite flavour of crisp is ready-sorted, which I'm not even sure counts as a flavour. It's just the default. Yeah. It's just ice cream, isn't it? It's got to be the most comforting thing in the world. It takes you back to the happiest moments of your life. There's something, it's just a simple pleasure.

You don't have to cook. You just take the lid off, put your spoon in, and that's it. You are instantly, your world is put to rights. Nigel Slater, thank you so much for allowing me to take the lid off you, dip my spoon in, and find all sorts of delights beneath. You've been a real inspiration to me in my life, and you are just a complete wonder in person. Thank you so much for coming on my podcast. Thank you so much for coming on my podcast. Thank you.

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