Nadiya Jamir Hussain’s face is framed by a bright pinky-purple hijab when we meet in a London hotel two days after her triumph on The Great British Bake Off. What happened to the black scarf she wore throughout the show? “I’m in disguise today,” she says.
Staying anonymous might not be as easy as she thinks. Nadiya has been surfing a wave of adulation ever since the series began, with fans calling themselves #Nadiyators on social media, blogs devoted to her quirky facial expressions and funny asides (“I’d sooner have another baby. I really would,” she insisted after a tricky souffle round) and even her eyebrows attracting column inches. But with 14.5 million people – the biggest TV audience of the year – watching the finale, the praise reached fever pitch, much of it focusing on the fact that a Muslim woman had won a competition with “Great British” in the title.
Thankfully, there’s no sign of the 4ft 11in baker – who had to stand on her tiptoes to be seen during filming – cracking under the pressure. Today, the 30-year-old from Leeds seems more self-possessed and – with a flash of gold eyeshadow – more striking than on TV, although she displays the same quick wit and warmth that won over so many viewers. (I have to fight the urge to pull her into a hug as we shake hands.)
She has been watching the final on repeat since Wednesday. The first time was with her husband, children and parents – and she was “blubbing all the way through”. Since then, every “random relative” who has popped by has demanded to see it (although most “talked through the whole thing”, she laughs.) It sounds like a wedding video, I suggest. “It is – because the day is a blur. It reminds you of the fun you had and the crazy things that you forgot you said. Yes, I do mean when I said: ‘I am so excited I am going to streak.’”
Keeping her win a secret was very difficult. Because the show is pre-recorded, her husband, sisters, mother and father (who were seen jumping in the air with joy when the result was announced) were all sworn to secrecy. Did her children manage it? “My kids needed the least coaching,” she says, mock-horrified at their ability to dissemble. “They took it in their stride. I said: ‘Never say: I can’t tell you – just say you don’t know.
“It was my dad I had to coach a lot. I said: ‘You have to work on your poker face. He said: ‘I gave you that face – you can’t hide a lie and nor can I.’ He literally stopped having people round in case they saw his face. He is probably the proudest man on earth right now.”
If so, then in second place must be Nadiya’s husband of 10 years, Abdal. He arrives with her to the interview, in a grey leather jacket and with a gentle-Yorkshire accent, and takes himself off to a quiet corner for a cup of tea. Although Nadiya has said he is an “awful cook” who uses every pan in the house, he made up for it as her chief supporter; he not only convinced her to apply, but stayed up with her as she worked on her creations until 4am. Because the series was filmed during the weekends over the summer, on week nights Nadiya would bake after her children went to bed, even during Ramadan and 18-hour fasts. The schedule sounds horrific, but she quickly assures me it wasn’t that bad. “You are buzzing! You are so high on energy and adrenaline and then you get to the final and you think: ‘I don’t need sleep.’ So it was coffee, Coca-Cola and cake.
“My husband stayed up with me, doing sudoku or just hanging round the kitchen, then did the dishes – even though he had to be at work at 8am. He knew there were times I was struggling, and he would say: ‘Remember you want this more than anything in the world, so just push through. You can do it.’ He was my driving force.”
When, in the final, he appeared on screen himself, he caused a Twitter flurry, inspiring comments such as “Nadiya’s husband is a stone cold hotty”. Nadiya laughs and tells me that some posts were more direct. “He was shocked. They were saying: ‘Meet me in London?’ I think he is enjoying it but I said: ‘It’s my time! Don’t steal my thunder!’”
Given his encouragement, it is fitting that her final showstopper was a wedding cake, something the couple missed out on when they married in Bangladesh. She decorated it with her wedding jewellery and wrapped it in a red, white and blue sari. It was a nice nod to the two cultures she straddles, but it’s fair to say Nadiya never imagined her win would see her held up as the ultimate symbol of modern, multicultural Britain. While genuinely flattered by the praise she has received, she is instinctively wary of the idea that her religion is her defining feature. “Going in, the things that worried me were not these deep issues like: ‘I have to represent all Muslims.’ What bothered me was more that I didn’t want to go in there and sound unintelligent or get my bakes wrong.”
She is thrilled that the responses have been so positive. “It does feel nice, because essentially it’s a baking show, but that tent is also a symbol of British society today – and 12 of us from very different backgrounds went in. I knew I represented different people – stay-at-home mums, Muslims, the [British] Bangladeshi community … [and] for each and every bit of me someone has said: ‘You have done a really good job for us; she seems like a good mum, she’s done well for Muslims and the Bengalis are proud.”
She picks her way carefully through the cultural weight attached to her personal success: “When I watch a TV show I wouldn’t notice if someone was Muslim or wearing a hijab,” she says. “It’s nice to be on a show where your skin colour or religion is incidental.” But she is pleased to be offering a positive view of Muslims, even if that wasn’t her aim. Unless her religion or headscarf are brought up, she seems much more comfortable defining herself through her role as a stay-at-home mother.
“Growing up, I didn’t see that many Muslims on TV and we don’t see many now. But essentially I am a mother and that’s the job I know best. For me, it’s important to instil in my children that they can do whatever they like, that no matter what their religion and colour, they can achieve what they want through hard work. And it’s nice to be able to do the same for a wider audience. If I have – amazing.”
Of course, not everyone has been as thrilled by her rise. The Daily Mail columnist Amanda Platell complained that another contestant, Flora, was penalised for being “too middle class”, writing: “Perhaps if she’d made a chocolate mosque, she’d have stood a better chance.” Ally Ross in the Sun went as far as to accuse the BBC of “ideological warfare” by including Asian, gay, and eastern-European contestants.
When I bring up the comments, there is a long pause and a sigh. In the end, she says, quietly: “I don’t know. It’s all very … It’s just so negative isn’t it? For me, the experience is so much better if you don’t concentrate on negativity.” When she considers the issue from a cook’s point of view, her response is more robust: she points out that the mix of food cultures resulted in the strongest competition to date. “If anything, putting people of different cultures in the tent is the reason why they had amazing bakes this year,” she says.
Each of her showstopper creations was inspired by a family member. “When I feel something, when they mean something to me – then I bake like a trouper.” The chocolate peacock, her stand-out creation, was inspired by the stained glass window of her grandmother’s front door. Her wedding cake was the exception (“I needed that to be about me, because it was the final bake”), but she goes on to list how the lemon drizzle flavour is her husband’s favourite, her kids love marshmallow fondant, and the flowers on top were peach because her father likes the colour. When I point out that this is not exactly focusing on yourself, she protests, “My family is me.” Then she chokes up a little. “They have given me everything I have today.”
She grew up as one of six siblings, and cooking was always at the centre of family life. “My dad taught us,” she says. “My mum always wanted to protect us, so she would say: ‘I don’t want my daughters to cook.’ But my dad was a chef and he insisted: ‘My children can’t be cutting their fingers on knives.’” Her childhood was exceptionally happy, and she describes with warmth trips to Bangladesh and a home filled with family and food.
“As a child my life felt like an adventure, because my dad is such a fun guy. I had a brother and sister who were in and out of hospital a lot – one had a congenital heart problem and the other had a cleft palate. But my parents never stopped smiling.
“They always had time for extended family: every weekend it was 50 people for dinner. My mum would cook half a lamb in a curry. There were not enough seats, so my dad put down bedsheets and we would sit on the floor and eat. God, we spent so much time eating!”
She left home only when she married Abdal, when she was 20. They were introduced by their parents when Nadiya was 19, and “spoke to each other for a few months” before getting married, and moving to Leeds, initially into Abdal’s parents house and then their own home. Leaving her family in Luton was lonely at first, “because I was so close to my family,” she admits, “but it was my adventure, and I had an amazing husband. Getting married was the best thing I ever did.”
In Leeds, Nadiya began to bake more regularly – it helped that she finally had a working oven. Growing up, that was something her mother never used for traditional Bangladeshi dishes, so it was used for storage. All her baking was done in school home economics classes. But after she was married, she began to work her way through a cookery book she had won as a school prize – even having a go at baking her own baby rusks when her children were born. She dropped out of a degree four years ago – to spend more time with her cakes. “People who heard I baked would ask me for wedding cakes. Although I enjoyed the degree, I enjoyed baking way more and I thought I could pick up my studies again later.”
She has not yet decided what she will do next, but as long as it involves cooking she will be satisfied. “Yes books, yes TV – I would love to do it all. If I could bake for ever I would be happy. With cooking, I am very experimental but I love the classic dishes my mum and dad taught me. My best dish is cod and clementine curry. It’s pretty awesome, I have to say – it’s my grandmother’s recipe. And my mum’s korma – which is not anglicised, and has no cream – it’s the bee’s knees.”
The show has even turned her children into connoisseurs – or “monsters”, as she puts it. Although she admits to roughing up any cakes or biscuits she is asked to make for school cake stalls, to play down her skills, she doesn’t get away with such stunts at home. “I can’t just make funfetti cakes any more – my nine-year-old wants cardamon and praline. My four year old only wants cupcakes – but they have to taste like rose.”
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