French

If the restaurants that produce them are any indication, the superlative steaks of the world cannot be reduced to a simple formula. Consider Le Relais de Venise L’Entrecôte in Paris, where the brisk waiter actually serves you half a steak, then gives the other half to another person, and then, just as you are finishing the last bite of your first half, he brings you another half-steak right off the grill—a miraculous second coming. Consider Raoul’s in New York, where the experience of eating is suffused by an equally savory experience of sitting, drinking, observing, and conversing. The only way to rival these folks is to take matters into your own hands: an excellent steak, the best pepper, the perfect salt, and thou. Tomes have been written on how to cook a steak. Precious little has been said on how to salt one. To cook: start with a lot of heat, finish with a little. Do the opposite with the salt: cook with no salt at all, or very little, if you really must have some. When the steak is served, choose the most beautiful sel gris you can find and let fly.

With a feast of raw meat, the only things separating a gritty fifth-century encampment at the foothills of the Altai Mountains in Kazakhstan and a bistro in Paris, Buenos Aires, New York, or Tokyo are the rimmings. In the modern case, these might involve a glowing egg yolk cradled in a caldera of flesh, slivers of oily anchovy, the pickled plumpness of capers—an interplay of texture and flavor, of raw and cured, oils and acids, aromatics and salt. The spectral freshness and crackling crunch of Halen Môn penetrates through this wonderful exchange and substantiates it—footnotes in the secret life your mind leads during the most intense moments of pleasure at the table.

In February 2008, I traveled with Dave to Deauville, France, for the third annual Omnivore Food Festival. The two of us were like fish out of water in this off-season beach town. Straight off the plane from New York and jet-lagged, we were left to our own devices in the tiny, remote town to gather Asian ingredients for a kimchi demo. We agreed to wake up at 6 a.m. the next day to get breakfast and get going. We met drowsy and confused in the empty hotel lobby and proceeded to sleepwalk through the ghost town until we could smell fresh-baked bread and saw a light on in the only bakery in town. Dave took charge and pointed at nearly everything in the joint, as that’s how we eat when we’re abroad. “I’m full” is not a phrase you’re allowed to use—such is the price of traveling with chef Dave Chang. We found a bench outside and unwrapped this mound of bread that looked like it had some sort of creamy gravy inside. Still half-asleep, we wrestled the filled bread ball out of the bag and bit in. When you are having a food moment, it’s like tasting food for the first time. Your eyes open wide and then close, as if in slow motion. You chew as if no food with flavor has ever touched your tongue before and what you are eating at that very moment is what will shape all future food opinions you will ever have. That was our 6:05 a.m. February morning in Deauville. Neither of us speaks French, so we decided to call it what it was, a volcano—an explosion of potato, lardons, and cheese like no other. We raced each other to the bakery every subsequent morning that week. And on the plane ride home, we agreed that if and when we opened a bakery, it must serve our very own volcano.

This dish is a specialty of the South of France, but living or visiting on the coast of Georgia you are quite likely to see it offered on menus. I hope you enjoy The Lady & Sons’ version of this wonderful French dish. Feel free to add any of your favorite shellfish to the pot.

A creamy sauce with French origins, this was named after its inventor, Louis de Béchamel, who was Louis XIV’s steward. It’s a rich indulgence that brings out the flavor in many meat and fish dishes. It is delicious in Sausage Gravy (page 186).

Make this superb sauce once in a while when you want to treat your guests to something undeniably rich and velvety smooth. It is best made as close as possible to when you plan to serve it, though it will hold for about an hour or so before serving. Serve it with Seared Beef Tenderloin Benedict (page 110).

Here’s the foolproof version of the sauce. It can get a little hotter or a little cooler than the classic hollandaise without breaking. An added benefit: It takes less than two minutes to make, so you can leave this to the last minute.

The classic recipe for this very rich sauce goes with everything from meat and fish to eggs and vegetables. It’s usually made in a double boiler, but if you don’t have one, you can improvise. Make a double boiler by putting one saucepan over another slightly larger one and filling the bottom one with an inch or so of water. Make the sauce in the top saucepan and let the water in the bottom pan simmer—it should not touch the sauce—so the sauce will cook slowly. If your sauce still breaks, transfer it to a bowl. Off the heat in the top of the double boiler, whisk another egg yolk. Gradually pour in the curdled sauce in a stream and whisk vigorously until all the broken sauce has been incorporated into the egg yolk. Make the sauce no more than 30 minutes before you plan on serving it. Do not attempt to reheat or it will break.

When a dish is called Niçoise (French for “as prepared in Nice”), it’s a safe bet that it contains tomatoes, tuna, green beans, and black olives. Though you could use jarred roasted peppers, the salad is best if you roast your own. And use the best-quality canned tuna that you can get—it makes a huge difference. Start this signature salad at least one hour in advance, so you can have eleven-minute boiled eggs ready and chilled. Ditto with the beans—they should be chilled after blanching. You may use either fresh green beans or the skinny French haricots verts in this recipe. All told, this is a beautiful salad, especially when the ingredients are cut carefully and arranged in groups. This dressing, good on greens of all kinds, will keep well, tightly covered, in the refrigerator for up to a week.

Adapted from a recipe by Julia Child, this country French dessert is made by baking a fresh fruit layer in an eggy pancake, then serving it hot with plenty of confectioners’ sugar and lemon or with whipped cream or ice cream. Choose your fruit according to the season: In the winter, use apples, and in the summer, any berries or pitted cherries.

You can purchase a product called chocolate batons (available at specialty stores and online) that’s specifically designed for rolling into chocolate croissants. But, if you’d like to make your own batons from scratch, here’s a recipe, followed by a method for shaping chocolate croissants. You could also fill these croissants with almond paste, or try savory fillings, like ham and cheese, creamed spinach, or bacon crumbles.

The dough for croissants, Danish, and certain other pastries is made by a method known as lamination, which involves folding layers of dough and butter (or another fat) to create many thin layers that puff when baked. Puff pastry, the classic unyeasted version of this dough, is used to make many pastries. In this book, I’ll stick with a yeasted formula that can be used to make both croissants and Danish pastry. There are many versions of laminated dough and many systems of rolling to create a specific number of layers. The system I’m presenting here certainly isn’t the only one that works, but I like it because it’s easy and also incorporates overnight fermentation to create a superb product. Feel free to modify it if you prefer more or fewer layers. The most common error home bakers make when laminating is to apply too much pressure to the dough, which breaks the paper-thin layers of dough and fat. To help with this, the formula here creates a very soft, pliable dough, and the method calls for a fair amount of dusting with flour to prevent sticking. There are two parts to the final dough: the détrempe and the butter block. The détrempe is the plain dough before the butter is rolled in. The butter block is the fat that will be laminated between layers of dough. There are many ways to incorporate the fat into the détrempe, including spreading it by hand in dabs over the rolled-out dough, which is sometimes called spotting. The method here is more systematic, using a series of letter folds (in thirds) to produce 81 layers of dough and fat—more than enough for a great accordion-style expansion of the layers (one of the recipe testers called it a concertina effect). Should you decide to experiment and try making more layers, just keep in mind that the layers are more vulnerable to rupturing as they get thinner, which defeats the purpose of laminating. I always suggest getting good at 81 layers before adding a fourth letter fold, which will increase the number of layers to 243. You can use either unbleached bread flour or all-purpose flour for the dough. Bread flour provides more structure, while all-purpose flour, being slightly softer, makes a more tender product.

This version of French bread is the simplest formula in the book. It uses the cold fermentation technique, and the resulting dough actually holds the shape and cuts of conventional French baguettes, bâtards, and boules better than the lean dough (page 46), which is wetter. Because the dough isn’t as wet, it’s especially important to handle it with a firm but light touch. Too much pressure will squeeze out the gas trapped during the overnight rise, resulting in small, even holes rather than the prized large, irregular holes. I’ve also included a variation that makes spectacular loaves with a distinctive blistered crust.

Blizzard food at its best. This buttery crusted pie, filled with rib-sticking pork, will fortify you for any winter's night.

Rémoulade is a cold French sauce made with mayonnaise, mustard, pickles, capers, and various herbs, and is very similar to American-style tartar sauce. It’s important the onions and celery are very finely chopped. It’s a dip, not a salad. To cut the celery, first cut the stalk into even, manageable lengths. Then cut into very thin matchsticks, line them up like little soldiers and slice across in thin cuts to make small perfect dice.

Mayonnaise is a subject of much debate in the South. I’ve even heard rumors about a veritable barroom-type brawl between chefs at the Southern Foodways Symposium in Oxford, Mississippi, that rose out of a discussion of Duke’s versus Hellmann’s. I grew up on Duke’s mayonnaise and strongly believe that if it’s not homemade, it’s got to be Duke’s! This recipe uses raw eggs. Pregnant women, young children, the elderly, or anyone whose health or immune system is compromised should not consume raw eggs. Otherwise, for healthy adults, homemade mayonnaise is fine.

Use this flavorful compound butter, known in French cuisine as beurre maître d’hôtel, on toasts, to saute vegetables, to toss with pasta-—the possibilities are endless. Vary the herbs as well. For example, try basil, garlic, and Parmigiano-Reggiano for an Italian flavor.