A couple years back I was served this intensely flavorful French dish of lamb and beans on a cold winter’s evening by an English friend who happens to be a superlative cook. Snow was drifting down outside her cottage as a maddeningly delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen — rosemary, thyme, bacon, garlic, tomato and lamb. When I asked for the recipe, she said she didn’t have one — she’d been making it so long that she did it by instinct.
Haricot de mouton / French lamb and beans
Fast forward two years and I made it myself, having at last wrested a rough description of the process from Jane, the friend in question. White beans are cooked to al dente tenderness, then simmered with the lamb and other ingredients with a splash of red wine. It takes a few hours from start to finish, although little of that time is actually spent in the kitchen. And you can make as much or as little as you like.
‘I used to serve it for 20 people at parties,’ said Jane, a diplomat’s wife who has entertained everywhere from Moscow to Brasília. She described it as a lamb cassoulet, but I checked with a friend from southwest France who noted that cassoulet always includes duck or goose and pork. This dish, she said, sounded more like haricot de mouton.
Literally ‘bean of mutton’, haricot de mouton is an ancient French dish, the first written mention of which dates back to the 14th century — oddly, because at that time beans had not yet been imported to France from the Americas. According to various sources, the original name of the dish was halicot de mouton, deriving from the Old French word halicoter, meaning ‘to chop into pieces’. The celebrated French chef Paul Bocuse cites a 1651 recipe that mentions a ragoût of mutton en halicot (chopped up) — with turnips, not beans. But at some point in history, there was slippage. Beans were added, and the dish switched from left to right (‘r’ replaced ‘l’).
I took some liberties with Jane’s recipe — a necessity, in fact, as she didn’t provide proportions. And as cooking for 20 seemed a bit daft in a time of lockdown, I made a smaller quantity involving a deboned shoulder of lamb and about a pound of dried beans. That made enough to serve five or six. As per her recommendation, I started a day ahead of time to allow the flavors to intensify overnight. And when I served it last Saturday, snow was drifting down outside my veranda…
Before leaving you, I’d like to mention the recent work of two more friends that you may find interesting. Ann Mah is a food and travel writer who also produces novels from time to time. Her monthly newsletter is a gem, and as she recently moved from Washington to Hanoi the stories and recipes have taken on a Vietnamese flavor. You can sign up for the newsletter here. And Julia Watson, also a food writer and occasional novelist, has just launched a new blog, Tabled, with recipes from around the world and news about the food business. Her latest posts feature rendang, a beef dish from Indonesia, and orange marmalade, one of England’s greatest contributions to global cuisine.
Happy cooking.
This is a French take on that cold-weather classic, split pea soup. A traditional dish in Alsace, where it is known as as erbsesupp, it has a smoky flavor, imparted by bacon, while a drizzle of cream lends a soothing touch. It’s hearty enough to stand on its own as a lunch dish, perhaps accompanied by melted cheese on toast or some cold cuts. And it can be made in less than an hour.
This festive chocolate-pear dessert is the brainchild of the chef 
Preparation is fun. Pear halves are sautéd in butter and sugar until they caramelize and are meltingly tender. The ganache, a classic of French cuisine, is a mixture of high-quality dark chocolate and warm cream, stirred together until they form a smooth, rich sauce. The dessert is refrigerated until set, and may then be served sliced — or whole, to achieve a Yule log effect.
The site now counts more than 400 recipes — phew! — and I have a list as long as my arm of recipes still to come. Most I have posted with a blog entry, but every so often I slip one in surreptitiously for inclusion in the site’s 
And so I leave you, dear readers, with hopes that 2021 will be a year of peace, joy and a return to life as we’ve known it. The Everyday French Chef will be on vacation on New Year’s Day, with my next post arriving on Friday, Jan. 8. Until then, here’s wishing you good health, happy holidays — and happy cooking.
Pastilla, a splendid savory pie, is worth a thought for a festive dinner as we gallop toward the holiday season. Crisp pastry encases chicken and almonds simmered to melt-in-your-mouth tenderness in exotic spices. The pie is sprinkled with powdered sugar to lend a seductive sweetness that will have your guests asking for more. But beware — making pastilla is a bit of a production. In other words, this is not an everyday dish
Pastilla was traditionally made with pigeon, but these days chicken is generally used. In France, pastilla is often served as small individual pies. But for a festive occasion like Christmas, New Year’s or Hanukah, a large pie makes an impressive presentation. One pie will serve 10 as a starter or 6-8 as a main dish. Preparation takes several hours, but if you’ve got the time and the patience, it’s well worth the effort.
Paris bistros often serve fish in a lemony cream sauce that I’ve never seen served in a French home. Why not, one wonders? It proved remarkably easy to prepare when I tried it out in my kitchen the other day after scouting around online for tips. And the beauty of this sauce is that it may be served over any type of filleted fish — cod, haddock, salmon, sea bass, you name it — and would also be delicious over scallops, lobster or other shellfish.
The sauce is a mixture of cream, butter, lemon juice, salt, pepper and fresh herbs. Chives are traditional, but you can branch out and use the herb or your choice, for example dill, tarragon, cilantro, thyme, parsley or chervil. Unlike sauces involving egg yolks (
A pumpkin soufflé might be just the ticket this year for those of us who are under lockdown but still want to celebrate Thanksgiving. Here in Paris, where the lockdown is in effect until at least Dec. 1, a friend and I who give a gala dinner every year have begun thinking about how to get creative when gatherings are essentially banned. For the moment, we’re planning a twosome — meaning roast turkey with stuffing is off the menu. What is to be done?
My role as the token American was supposed to be simple — to make cranberry sauce and bring it to Blanc’s table in Vonnas, just south of Burgundy. At the last minute, I was asked to provide cornbread as well (oops, not my specialty). When we sat down, Georges Blanc produced a roast turkey unlike any I’d tasted before — stuffed with veal, pork, walnuts and thyme — and a fabulous 
Strong drink may be needed to get through the next couple of weeks, so here’s a rum cocktail from the French Antilles and crispy cod fritters to go with it. The cocktail, ti punch, is based on rhum agricole, a clear rum distilled from cane sugar juice with a flavor remarkably different from other rums on the market. Add some lime juice and raw sugar, and your mood will definitely improve. The fritters are fun to make and come with a spicy salsa.
Let’s start with the cocktail. 
Now for the fritters. 
The fritters marry well with 
Some days you just need a nice bowl of soup. And the French take on broccoli soup is just right for easing body and soul given the climate of this turbulent autumn (and I’m not talking about the weather). The basic recipe is ultrasimple. Broccoli is simmered with potato, leek, and garlic, then puréed to smoothness. Add a dash of lemon juice, stir in some cream and top with croutons. That’s the French way — but there are many variations…
You can go Italian, stirring in some olive oil and topping each bowl with grated parmesan. For a Spanish flavor, add chorizo chips. Or — one of my favorites — skip the cream and instead add finely grated ginger and a swirl of coconut milk. All of these versions are healthy and tasty, and two are vegan — with croutons (no cream), and with ginger and coconut milk.
One day a colleague of mine at the International Herald Tribune arrived with a bagful of quinces and handed it over. ‘Do you know what to do with these?’ he asked. Thus began my adventure in cooking with quince, a fruit I had rarely encountered before. Every autumn I try my hand at one dish or another. This year, I made chicken with quinces, a dish richly spiced with cumin, cinnamon, coriander and saffron, and sweetened with honey.
If you’ve never encountered a quince, it’s an exquisitely perfumed yellow fruit that looks like a cross between an apple and a pear. In France, it is mainly used to make pâte de coings, a sturdy jelly that is served in sugar-coated squares. In Spain, this firm jelly is known as membrillo and is served with Manchego cheese. Other countries, like Iran and Azerbaijan, use quinces in various savory dishes, often paired with lamb or poultry.
Mussels with garlic, hot pepper, olive oil and fresh herbs, served in small glasses at cocktail hour, is a specialty of the charming Mediterranean port of Sète. This is local cuisine at its finest — le piste de moules, as it’s known, can be found at the many bars lining the canals of this Venice-like town, and in the homes of its residents, but practically nowhere else in France. I have a friend who lives there, and he was kind enough to share the recipe.
I discovered le piste de moules on a visit to Sète a few years back during the height of summer, when the town is crowded with tourists and the beautiful white beaches are packed with lounge chairs, umbrellas and happy swimmers. I went back a couple of times, but decided not to go to the Mediterranean shore this year because of the virus. Nonetheless, I had a hankering for the dish and made it twice over the summer — in July in Normandy, and in August in Paris. Traditionally the fresh herb used is parsley, but I innovated, using basil once and cilantro the other time. Fine.
