My Favorite Julia Recipe So Far

Sauté de Boeuf à la Parisienne

This is, by far, my most-prepared and favorite of all recipes from Mastering the Art.

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Hands down, it's the most delectable of all the recipes in Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Hands down, it's the easiest of all the recipes in Mastering the Art of French Cooking. 

Such a combination, one would think, should have brought the likes of Nigella Lawson to her knees by now. After all, our Nigella has established herself as the queen of “Maximum pleasure; minimal effort.”

How could she have possibly missed this jewel of Julia’s?

It baffles me. 

If you want to do the impressive, epitome of Julia’s French mastery of the art, then by all means, spend an enjoyable four hours cranking out her Boeuf Bourguignon. 

If you would rather spend a mere half hour producing a luscious, exquisite, over-the-top,  pinnacle of gastronomic indulgence, then Julia’s Sauté de Boeuf à la Parisienne is your go-to recipe. 

Trust me. 

Mushrooms and shallots get browned in butter; sliced filet of beef, likewise. The pan is deglazed with Madeira, beef stock is added and reduced to a strong, dark syrup. A liberal amount of cream is added, reduced, thickened and finished with the addition of butter. The beef and mushrooms then get swathed in this sauce-for-the-gods.


It's beef Stroganoff on crack.

I wish I could express how pleasurable and divine this creation really is. Thanks to a boyhood friend of mine who now lives in France, I can relay what his French family exclaims whenever they’re dining on something really delicious:

"C'est la Sainte Vierge en culottes de velour!"

(It's the Virgin Mary in velvet panties!)

Ha! I don’t think I could have ever come up with anything as descriptive as that. (I really hope Julia had heard that exclamation during her stay in France. I’m sure she would have loved it.)

If any recipe deserves a comparison to the Holy Mother’s velvet underpants, this one is it.

Invite Nigella for dinner while you’re at it.

For 6 people (serve over white rice)

Ingredients:

1/2 pound fresh mushrooms (I much prefer Crimini mushrooms)

2 tablespoons butter

1 tablespoon good cooking oil
3 tablespoons minced shallots
1/4 teaspoon salt
pinch of pepper
2 1/2 pounds filet of beef
2 tablespoons butter and 1 tablespoon cooking oil, more if needed
1/2 cup Madeira or dry white vermouth
1 cup beef stock
1 cup whipping cream
2 teaspoons cornstarch blended with 1 tablespoon of the cream
salt and pepper
2 tablespoons softened butter
parsley sprigs

Directions:

1) Trim off the surrounding fat and filament from the beef and cut into 2-ounce pieces, about 2 inches across and 1/2-inch thick. Dry thoroughly on paper towels.

2) Sauté the mushrooms in the first amount given of butter and oil for about five minutes, or until lightly browned. Stir in the shallots and cook for a minute longer. Season the mushrooms and scrape them into a side dish.

3) Place butter and oil in the skillet and set over moderately high heat. When the butter foam begins to subside, sauté the beef, a few pieces at a time, for 2-3 minutes on each side to brown the exterior but keep the interior rosy red. Set the beef on a side dish and discard the fat.

4) Pour the wine and stock into the skillet and boil it down rapidly, scraping up the coagulated cooking juices, until liquid is reduced to about 1/3 cup. Beat in the cream, then the cornstarch mixture. Simmer a minute. Add the mushrooms and simmer a minute more. The sauce should be lightly thickened. Correct seasonings.

5) Season the beef lightly with salt and pepper and return it to the skillet along with any juices which may have escaped. Baste the beef with the sauce and mushrooms, or transfer everything to a serving casserole.

6) When you are ready to serve, cover the skillet or casserole and heat to below the simmer for 3-4 minutes, being very careful not to overdo it or the pieces of filet will be well done rather than rare. Off heat and just before serving, tilt casserole, add butter to sauce a bit at a time while basting the meat until the butter has absorbed. Decorate with parsley and serve over white rice at once.

"To Master The Art . . .

I was assisting two friends of mine in hosting a Thanksgiving dinner for about thirty people here in Chicago when I met one of the guests named David. By the time I was introduced to him, he knew that I was a Julia Child cook and blogger, so they asked if I'd been to "the Julia Child play."

"The what?" I queried.

The play about Julia Child. "I think it's called 'Mastering the Art' or something like that",  he said. It was a play about Julia Child and her husband when they lived in postwar France and her discovery of cooking.  "But it's been sold out for a long time," said another one of the Davids. 

"To Master the Art"

He said that the theatre might be adding a couple of performances and that I should call the Timeline Theatre the very next day. Maybe I could get a ticket. . . .

I called the theatre the next day, the very minute the box office opened. All performances were sold out, But! . . alas! .They had added one more performance on December 15th and had only two tickets left. . .
"Did I want them?"

"Yes . . . innocently . . . Implicitly. . . .

My bestie foodie friend, Liane, accompanied me on a blisteringly cold night to a performance of "To Master the Art".  Within the first thirty seconds of this performance, I had tears streaming down my face. The performance was that stunning. Liane was, hopefully, not embarrassed by my reaction; I doubt that she was surprised by it. (After all, that's why I brought my bestie foodie friend to accompany me to the world premier of this performance.)

Needless to say, the performances were brilliant throughout. Whenever there was a scene in a restaurant, a kitchen, or the Cordon Bleu, the audience was permeated with exquisite different aromas: roasted chicken in tarragon, and, (I swear) the smell of beurre blanc blasted the audience.

The theatre was small and intimate, perhaps six rows seated in-the-round, so we could really enjoy every facial expression. (I'm dying to see what some chef-musician wanna-be will do to Julia's vocal line when this is crucified into an off-Broadway musical -- and don't think for a moment that I won't be the one to take a stab at doing it!)

Please know that "To Master the Art" the stage performance was written BEFORE the movie "Julia and Julia" - - that abominable, trite thing. 

I'm truly sad that I saw the last performance of "To Master the Art."  During the next two-and-a-half hours of the performance, I laughed, was surprised, cried some more and continued to be overwhelmed  - - - at how much joy can be obtained from food. . . . Such joy from food! 

But, you know, . . . . the same thing happens whenever I prepare any one of Julia's recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Whenever I follow Julia's precise instructions, pure unalloyed joy -- and some euphoria - - are always the results. How many endeavors such as that can one claim?

"To Master the Art" conveyed precisely what I've felt about Julia's work all along. That's why I wept within the first thirty seconds.

"To Master the Art" will be a huge hit, mark my words.
My only frustration is this - -

- - that everyone I truly love didn't get to see it with me.

Fondue de Poulet à La Crème; Chicken Simmered in Onions and Cream

I often try to imagine how certain recipes were developed or rather, what necessitated their creation.

Take, for example, one of my favorite food items of all: Ravioli. Some enterprising grandma in Italy probably found herself with a few scraps of meat on hand and a lot of hungry tummies to fill. What to do? Grind the meat, add fillers, lots of tasty spices, and place tiny morsels of it between pillows of pasta. Presto! The family loved it and all went to bed happy and sated.

Meanwhile, a French grandma found herself with an abundance of cream on hand. She’d already made all the butter she could use and the litre of cream was about to sour. What to do? Simmer a chicken in it. Voila! Fondue de Poulet à La Crème.

Julia, of course, took the lusciousness of this recipe, pointed it skyward and shot it off into the stratosphere.

A chicken is basted in butter and onions -- I used the equivalent of chicken thighs – and it receives just a whisper of curry powder. White wine and Cognac are added and reduced.

Now for the cream.

A cup of cream is appealing. Two cups would be over the top.

So, this recipe calls for three cups of cream. (Remember, the French grandma.) Although the recipe didn’t call for it, I browned some mushrooms in butter because I had them on hand and needed to use them.

The chicken gets simmered for half an hour, but frankly, I think it could use quite a bit longer in its cream-jacuzzi. Julia has us remove the chicken, reduce the sauce even more and touch it up with some fresh cream and lemon juice.

I came up with a pretty scrumptious salad if I do say so myself. Baby spinach, grape tomatoes and diced mango was dressed with orange olive oil and tangerine balsamic vinegar.

That orange oil and tangerine vinegar combo is just about the best thing you’ve ever tasted. It’s available at a cute little oil and vinegar shop here in Chicago called Old Town Oil. If you’ve got a foodie friend for whom you’d like to buy a gift but don’t know what to get, there you go.

Serving this recipe over rice is perfect. As a matter of fact, plain rice with this sauce would be a slice of heaven – forget the chicken.

A nearby farmer’s market sells this Japanese hybrid of corn that is known for its sweetness. I can eat four ears in a sitting. This was the last day the corn was available so I obviously took advantage of it.

If you want to prepare a Julia Child recipe that’s pretty easy and has a big voila-factor, this would be the way to go.

Three cups of cream. You only live once. Go for it.

Coquilles St. Jacques Provençal - Scallops Gratinéed with Wine, Garlic, and Herbs

I don't know who St. Jacques is or what he had to do with Julia Child, but I'm really happy he did what he did as far as her scallops are concerned.

A while back, I made Julia's Coquilles St. Jacques à la Parisienne which are scallops simmered in white wine and mushrooms from which the scallops are removed, the broth is then reduced and very gradually thickened with butter & flour, cream, and egg yolks; thus, à la Parisienne. It's complex and you end up with at least three pots boiling away, whisking this one into that one with precise timing and techniques. It's tons of fun. 

The result tasted pasty -- no doubt because the 4 Tbs of flour I used had been sitting on the shelf above my stove for some months and, I think, may have gone a bit rancid. (See? I hadn't tasted the flour before I began whisking it in so expertly.)

I served it with Julia's green beans à la Provençal -- fresh green beans sautéed with onions, tomatoes, garlic, bay, and thyme. Yes, I served à la Parisienne and à la Provençal together.

And in mis-matched service, to boot.  (I hate for food to 'touch')
True, it "didn't work." It tasted pasty to me.
Will I serve this again? I doubt it.
Did any guests flee in terror? Hardly.

Last weekend: Scallops St. Jacques Provençal; Scallops that had been floured and sautéed in butter to which white wine, garlic, butter-sautéed shallots, bay, and thyme were added. The moment that was added, it thickened up without the use of cream or egg yolks. It was then covered with a tiny layer of Swiss cheese, more butter, and broiled.

I served this with steamed asparagus swathed with the incredible beurre blanc . (The photo of the asparagus alongside the scallops was really dreadful -- Lighting, splatters, we were hungry.)

 Along with pan-roasted potatoes and a spinach-tomato salad.

Here is Miss Healthypants, admiring her favorite food item. 

Oh, and I also stopped by a little wine shop on the way home. The ever-so-helpful wine person asked what I was serving and suggested a 2007 Sèvre et Maine muscadet. When she mentioned that it was from the Loire Valley, I suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, that's perfect! I'm serving asparagus with a beurre blanc which was invented in the Loire Valley - - you know. . . "

. . . And, there you have just about THE snootiest response to an attractive wine merchant ever.

Anyway, this wine was just about the most perfect thing to go with this meal; It was light but not crisp, nowhere near tart, dry nor sweet, but really had a "wow" factor when it came to subtle appeal -- the absolute perfect wine for scallops.

It's not like I'm a true connoisseur of wines. Hardly. I was raised Southern Baptist, lived most of my adult life as a Roman Catholic, and only became an Episcopalian a couple of years ago. 

If I ever had to prepare "the perfect meal", Coquilles Provençal St. Jacques would be the fish course and asparagus with beurre blanc would be the main players.

But serve these two items together with crusty French bread, a light salad, that muscadet wine, and that would be one of your most perfect (and easiest) meals.
Ever! 
Yes, I mean Ever!
I'm serious . . .