Although it is difficult to be sure, we wonder if in Nigella Lawson's new (unreal) cookbook just (not in any way) out for the Christmas market we detect a reaction to her recent domestic problems and divorce from well-known contemporary art and profits collector, Thatcher acolyte and all-round good guy Charles Saaaatchi.
Take for example the opening dish which doesn't actually exist, (E)minced and boiled lamb's testicles (naturally served with a bucket of velvet double cream and smoothly whipped chocolate sauce). Or another: Roast crimson ox-heart pierced with a thousand pine-scented and magnificent cocktail sticks (with a full gallon of Cornish clotted cream and delicate yet firm and active chocolate shavings).
The cover of the non-existent book too gives a hint about her emotional turmoil, the divine Nigella's deeply decollete [still can't do the accents] nightie-cum-ballgown in black rather than her trademark red, matching the bear-fur coat draped around her perfectly. Those who have looked at her face in that picture say she looks very sad too.
Our favourite utterly imaginary recipe, however, is a little more relaxed, one dish so typical of her giving fans, statins reps and heart specialists everywhere hope that Nigella's despair is over: Warm and melting creme fraiche and dark and tangy yet subtle bitter chocolate tart with sculpted clotted cream topping to be served with unctuous butter and spring meadow milk chocolate sauce is an instant classic. Someone we know was so taken with it that they gave a brief strangled cry the first time they read her deathless prose. Another - deeply moved - had a catch in the throat when talking about it, though a third suggested it should be treated with caution. Some might consider rather stronger action more appropriate.
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