Nigella Mushroom Pasta ​​Recipe

The day started grey. One of those April mornings where the rain doesn’t fall, just hangs in the air like a held breath. I’d been in a mood—tired of toast, tired of dishes, tired in general.

I had a bag of mushrooms slowly losing hope in the fridge. A half-glass of wine from Sunday. And just enough butter to make something that felt like care.

It became this. A bowl of tangled pappardelle, buttery shallots, mushrooms that soaked up every drop of flavour, and a slick of sauce that clung like a secret.

Her Method, Softly Told

Nigella, as ever, treats mushrooms with reverence. She sears them in stages—never crowding the pan—then builds the sauce from butter, shallots, garlic, rosemary, a little white wine, and a final bright note of lemon. She tosses it all through pasta with a nudge of Dijon and a snowfall of cheese.

It’s creamy, but not with cream. Just butter and parmesan and patience.

Where I Went Off-Recipe

I didn’t have thyme, only rosemary from the garden, still damp from the morning. Used that.
My shallots were more onion-adjacent. Close enough.
And I added more wine than Nigella said to—accidentally, truly. The bottle slipped. But I let it cook down and the sharpness softened. Maybe I needed that little chaos.

I used pappardelle because it’s what I had, and it always feels a bit dramatic in the best way.

Also—I didn’t measure the cheese. I grated until it looked generous.

The Result (Honestly?)

Warm. Garlicky. Deep. Like the woods in October.
The mushrooms were golden at the edges, soft in the middle. The sauce clung to everything in a way that felt romantic, even if I ate it cross-legged on the sofa with socks pulled high.

A bit messy. Slightly too much wine. But still—beautiful.

How To Make Mushroom Pasta the Clara Way

1. Cook the Mushrooms: Heat a splash of olive oil in your heaviest pan—mine’s cast iron, always. Add half the mushrooms with salt and pepper and leave them alone. Let them get a bit golden, then stir. Cook until they’ve shrunk and softened, then lift them out and repeat with the rest. Don’t rush. They’ll tell you when they’re ready.
2. Boil the Pasta: Salt the water well. Like the sea. Add the pappardelle and let it sway and soften. Keep a mug of that starchy water before draining—it’s gold.
3. Build the Sauce: In the now-empty pasta pot, melt butter gently. Add chopped shallots and let them cook until they’re soft and translucent. Stir in chopped rosemary and grated garlic. It should smell like comfort.
4. Deglaze and Stir: Pour in the wine. More than you meant to? Fine. Let it bubble and hiss, then settle. Stir in a spoon of Dijon mustard—it doesn’t shout, just hums in the background.
5. Toss Everything Together: Add the drained pasta, a good grating of parmesan, and a splash of pasta water. Toss until glossy. Add a squeeze of lemon, the cooked mushrooms, and maybe more cheese if you’re feeling kind.
6. Eat hot. Possibly with your eyes closed.

Notes I’d Tell a Friend

• Don’t crowd the pan with mushrooms. Let them breathe.
• Use more garlic if you’re feeling bold. Or more cheese if you’re tired.
• Leftover wine works here. Even slightly oxidised. Trust me.
• If the sauce feels thin, add more cheese or pasta water. It’s forgiving.

Fridge, Freezer & the Rest

• It keeps well in the fridge for a day or two, though the pasta might get a little clingy.
• To reheat, add a splash of water or a bit more butter.
• It doesn’t freeze well—but you’ll likely finish it before that matters.

Closing Thought

I didn’t plan to make pasta that day. I just needed something warm and soft.
And this—this was both.

Try More Nigella Lawson Recipes:

• Nigella Mushroom Pate
• Nigella Mushroom Risotto
• Nigella Mushroom Lasagna ​Recipe