Egg RecipesLes Œufs

Crack the eggs into a bowl and break them up with a fork — not a whisk, which incorporates too much air for this dish — just enough to marry yolk and white. Do not season yet: salt added before cooking draws water out of the egg and gives you a wetter curd.

Set a saucepan directly on the lowest possible flame, or if your hob will not go low enough, set it over a heat diffuser or a second pan of barely simmering water. Add half the butter. There is no rush: this dish takes eight to ten unhurried minutes and is worse for being cooked faster.

When the butter has melted, add the eggs and begin stirring at once with a wooden spoon, scraping the whole base of the pan continuously, in figures of eight. Do not stop stirring at any point from here to the plate.

After four or five minutes the eggs begin to thicken into small, glistening curds, closer to custard than to what a hot pan produces. Keep stirring and keep the heat low enough that you never hear a sizzle — a sizzle means the pan is too hot and the curds will turn dry and grainy.

The moment the mixture coats the back of the spoon in a loose, custardy layer but is still visibly wet — a good ten per cent looser than you think is done — pull the pan off the heat entirely. Stir in the remaining cold butter and the cream; both stop the cooking dead and add gloss.

Season now, with salt and white pepper, and spoon at once onto warm plates or into a hollowed brioche. The residual heat finishes the set in the seconds it takes to serve. Scatter chives and eat immediately.

Break the eggs into a bowl, add the water, season, and beat briskly with a fork for fifteen seconds — enough to blend fully and lighten the mixture with a little air, not enough to build a froth. Stir in the herbs.

Heat a heavy frying pan, ideally 20–22 cm, over medium-high heat until a drop of water skitters and vanishes. Add the butter; it should foam vigorously without browning.

Pour in the eggs all at once. Immediately begin dragging a wooden spoon or a fork flat across the base in wide circles, while shaking the pan gently with your other hand, so the whole surface sets in loose, small curds rather than one solid sheet.

After about twenty seconds most of the egg is softly set with a little visible liquid still pooling on top. Stop stirring, tilt the pan away from you, and let the last of the liquid run to the far side and finish setting for a few seconds.

Using the spoon, fold the near third of the omelette over onto the middle third. Tilt the pan steeply and, with a firm tap of your wrist against the handle, roll the whole thing over on itself towards the far lip until it sits as a plump cigar with the seam underneath.

Tip it out directly onto a warm plate, seam-side down. It should be pale gold outside, not a fleck of brown, and still faintly runny at the very centre.

Bring a pot of water to a full boil. Lower the eggs in gently on a spoon, one at a time, and return to a steady simmer. Cook for exactly nine minutes for a fully set yolk with no grey ring, or ten if your kitchen is at altitude.

Lift the eggs straight into a bowl of iced water and leave them a full five minutes. This halts the cooking instantly and, just as importantly, shrinks the white away from the shell, which is what makes peeling clean rather than pitted.

For the mayonnaise: whisk the raw yolk, mustard, and a pinch of salt in a mixing bowl set on a damp cloth so it cannot slide. Begin adding the oil drop by drop, whisking continuously, for the first quarter of the volume. This is the stage that actually builds the emulsion; rushing it is the single most common cause of a split sauce.

Once the mixture has visibly thickened and gone pale, the emulsion is established and you can add the remaining oil in a thin, steady, unbroken stream, whisking throughout. Finish with the vinegar, whisked in, which loosens the mayonnaise to a spoonable consistency and brightens it.

Halve the peeled eggs lengthways with a wet knife wiped between cuts. Arrange cut-side up on a plate, nap generously with mayonnaise, and finish with a dusting of paprika and parsley.

Heat the oven to 180°C (350°F). Butter four ramekins generously, right up to the rim — this is what stops the egg sticking as it sets.

Set the ramekins in a roasting tin and pour boiling water into the tin until it comes roughly halfway up their sides. This bain-marie — water bath — is what keeps the heat around the eggs gentle and even; without it the outer edge of the white turns rubbery long before the centre sets.

Warm the cream in a small saucepan until just steaming, not boiling. Pour a tablespoon into the base of each buttered ramekin.

Crack one egg into each ramekin directly on top of the warm cream. Season each lightly and spoon another tablespoon of cream over the top to cover the yolk — this protects it from the direct heat of the oven above and is what keeps it liquid.

Bake for 9–11 minutes, turning the tin once. The white should be fully opaque and just set at the very centre; the yolk beneath should still move as a distinct liquid dome when the ramekin is tilted.

Lift the ramekins from the water with a cloth, scatter with herbs, and serve at once with thin fingers of toasted bread for dipping — mouillettes.

In a heavy pan, render the lardons over medium heat until golden and crisp, then lift them out with a slotted spoon and set aside. In the rendered fat, soften the shallots and carrot for five minutes until translucent, not browned.

Add the garlic, bouquet garni and the wine. Bring to a simmer and reduce by about a third, uncovered, 12–15 minutes, until the liquid coats the back of the spoon lightly and smells of cooked wine rather than raw alcohol.

Lower the heat until the wine barely trembles — a hard simmer will shred the whites. Crack each egg into a cup first, then slide it gently into the liquid; poach in two batches of four, 3–4 minutes each, until the white is fully set and the yolk still yields to a light touch.

Lift each egg out with a slotted spoon onto a clean cloth to drain, and trim any ragged trailing threads of white with kitchen scissors or the tip of a knife.

Strain the poaching wine through a sieve into a clean saucepan, pressing the vegetables to extract their juice, then discard the solids and bouquet garni. Bring back to a simmer and whisk in the beurre manié a small piece at a time until the sauce lightly coats a spoon.

Rub the fried croûtes with the cut garlic clove. Set two croûtes per plate, top with a poached egg, scatter the reserved lardons over, and spoon the wine sauce generously across.

Warm the oil in a heavy pan over low-medium heat. Add the onions and a pinch of salt and sweat, covered, for ten minutes, stirring now and then, until soft and translucent but not coloured.

Add the peppers, garlic, bay leaf and piment d'Espelette. Cover and cook gently for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the peppers have collapsed to a soft, jammy mass — this slowness is what removes all bitterness from the pepper skins.

Add the tomatoes, raise the heat slightly, and cook uncovered for a further 10 minutes until most of the free liquid has evaporated and the mixture holds together on a spoon. Taste and adjust salt.

Lower the heat right down. Pour in the beaten eggs and stir slowly and continuously with a wooden spoon, exactly as for œufs brouillés, until the eggs form soft curds through the vegetables and are still visibly moist. Pull from the heat a moment before you think it is ready.

Fold through the torn ham if using, off the heat, and serve at once with crusty bread.

The pastry, by hand. Tip the flour and salt into a mixing bowl. Add the cold butter and, using only your fingertips, rub it into the flour, lifting the mixture to aerate it, until it resembles coarse breadcrumbs with a few pea-sized lumps left. Work quickly — warm hands melt the butter and toughen the pastry.

Make a well in the centre, add the yolk and most of the water, and bring it together with a knife in short cutting strokes, adding water a teaspoon at a time only as needed, until it just clumps. Turn onto the board and press into a disc with the heel of your hand two or three times — do not knead. Wrap and chill for 30 minutes.

Heat the oven to 200°C (400°F). Roll the pastry on a floured board to about 3 mm thick and line a 24 cm tart tin, pressing well into the corners and leaving a slight overhang. Prick the base all over with a fork, line with baking paper and fill with dried beans or rice as weights.

Blind-bake 15 minutes, then remove the paper and beans and bake a further 8–10 minutes until the base looks dry and very pale gold, not raw. Trim the overhanging edge flush with a knife. Lower the oven to 160°C (320°F).

Meanwhile, fry the lardons in a dry pan over medium heat until golden and much of their fat has rendered, then drain on a cloth.

Whisk the eggs, cream, milk, a good pinch of salt, white pepper and a scrape of nutmeg together in a bowl until just combined — over-whisking builds bubbles that mar the finished surface.

Scatter the lardons over the baked case, set it on the oven shelf, and pour in the custard almost to the brim — filling it on the shelf avoids spilling on the walk to the oven.

Bake 30–35 minutes at 160°C until the custard is set at the edges but still shows a gentle, coherent wobble across the central third when the tin is nudged. Cool at least 15 minutes before slicing; it firms considerably as it cools.

Halve the peeled, hard-boiled eggs lengthways with a sharp, wet knife. Scoop the yolks into a bowl with a teaspoon and set the whites aside on a plate, cavity up.

Push the yolks through a sieve set over the bowl, using the back of a wooden spoon in small circular strokes. This is the whole trick of the dish: sieving breaks the yolk into a fine, even, almost fluffy crumb that no amount of forking or mashing will match.

Fold in the mayonnaise, mustard and chives with a fork until just combined and season to taste. Do not overmix — you want to keep some of the crumbly texture the sieve gave you.

Spoon or pipe the mixture back into the egg-white halves, mounding it slightly above the rim. Dust with a pinch of cayenne and finish with a few extra chives.

Heat the oven to 190°C (375°F) with a shelf set low. Butter a 1.5-litre soufflé dish thoroughly with upward strokes — the direction matters, as it helps the batter climb — then coat the inside evenly with the breadcrumbs or Parmesan, tipping out the excess. This gritty wall gives the soufflé something to grip as it rises.

Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat, stir in the flour, and cook the resulting roux, stirring constantly, for two minutes until it smells faintly biscuity and no longer of raw flour, without letting it colour.

Off the heat, whisk in the warm milk in three additions, beating out any lumps after each. Return to the heat and cook, whisking continuously, until it thickens to a very thick, heavy paste that pulls cleanly from the sides of the pan — thicker than an ordinary béchamel, because it must still carry the weight of the whites.

Off the heat, beat in the yolks one at a time, then the Gruyère, and season generously with salt, white pepper, nutmeg and a pinch of cayenne — the base should taste slightly over-seasoned, since the whites will dilute it. Spread the base out in a wide bowl to cool to just warm.

In a large, scrupulously clean and dry bowl, whisk the egg whites with the cream of tartar, if using, starting slowly and building speed, until they hold stiff, glossy peaks that stand upright when the whisk is lifted straight out.

Stir a third of the whites into the still-warm base to loosen it — this sacrificial addition is beaten in firmly, not folded, and its only job is to bring the two mixtures to a similar consistency.

Tip the lightened base back over the remaining whites. Fold with a large metal spoon or spatula in broad strokes — down through the centre, along the base, and up the side of the bowl, turning the bowl a quarter turn between strokes — stopping the instant no dry streaks of white remain. Every stroke beyond that loses you air and height.

Pour into the prepared dish; it should come close to the rim. Run your thumb around the inside edge, wiping away a thin channel of batter — this stops the mixture catching on the rim as it climbs and rising unevenly.

Bake 25–28 minutes without opening the door. It is ready when it has risen well clear of the rim, the top is deep golden, and a gentle sideways nudge of the dish sets it wobbling only very slightly at the centre.

Carry it to the table at once. A soufflé does not wait for its guests — they wait for it, and it falls gracefully rather than suddenly within a few minutes of leaving the oven, which is simply the trapped air cooling and contracting.