All recipes

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Carottes râpéesGrated carrot salad

Carottes râpées is the everyday starter of French school canteens, bistro crudité plates and family lunches all over the country, a heap of finely grated carrots in a bright lemon dressing that wakes up any meal. It is sweet, juicy and crunchy, and takes ten minutes. The secret is grating the carrots on the fine side of the grater, so they release some juice into the dressing. The common mistake is using the coarse holes, which gives dry, chewy strands that do not take the dressing. Chef's tip: dress the carrots 20 minutes before serving and toss again just before the table; they soften slightly and taste much sweeter.

10 min

French Salads

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Crème chantillySweetened whipped cream

Crème chantilly is named after the Château de Chantilly north of Paris, where the 17th-century steward Vatel is said to have served it, and today it crowns waffles, crêpes, fruit tarts and hot chocolate in cafés across France. Cold cream is whipped with a little icing sugar and vanilla to soft, billowy peaks, light rather than stiff. The common mistake is over-whipping, which turns the cream grainy and then into butter. Chef's tip: chill the bowl and whisk for 15 minutes first, and stop as soon as the cream holds soft peaks that just flop over.

10 min

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Vinaigrette à la moutardeMustard vinaigrette

The mustard vinaigrette is made fresh in every French kitchen before dinner, often right in the bottom of the salad bowl, and spooned over butter lettuce served after the main course and before the cheese. The classic ratio is one part vinegar to three of oil, with a spoonful of Dijon mustard to hold it together into a thick emulsion. The common mistake is dissolving the salt in the oil, where it stays gritty; it must go in the vinegar first. Chef's tip: dress the leaves just before serving and toss with your hands, so every leaf is coated but not soggy.

5 min

French Breakfast & Brunch

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Omelette aux fines herbesHerb omelette

Every French home cook learns the omelette aux fines herbes, the quick lunch or late supper served all over the country with a green salad and a glass of water or cider, and the test dish of every cookery school from Paris to Lyon. The eggs are stirred over a gentle heat so they set into soft, creamy curds, then rolled into a pale, smooth cigar with no brown colour at all. The four fines herbes, chives, parsley, chervil and tarragon, go in raw at the last minute so they stay bright. The usual mistake is a pan that is too hot, which browns and toughens the outside before the middle sets. Chef's tip: take the omelette off the heat while the centre still looks a little runny; it finishes cooking on the plate.

10 min

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Crème d'amandeAlmond cream

Crème d'amande is the rich almond cream French pastry cooks bake inside the galette des rois at Epiphany, under the pears of a Bourdaloue tart and inside almond croissants. Soft butter, sugar, ground almonds and egg are beaten together into a thick paste that puffs and turns golden and moist in the oven. Mixed with a little pastry cream it becomes frangipane. The common mistake is whisking too much air into it, which makes it rise and then sink in the oven. Chef's tip: use butter that is soft but not melted, and beat with a spatula rather than a whisk.

10 min

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Beurre maître d'hôtelParsley and lemon butter

Beurre maître d'hôtel is the simplest of the French flavoured butters, a roll of soft butter beaten with parsley and lemon that every bistro keeps in the fridge to slice on to steak frites, grilled fish and baked potatoes, where it melts into a fresh, green sauce. It takes ten minutes and freezes beautifully. The common mistake is using butter straight from the fridge, which will not take the lemon juice and turns lumpy. Chef's tip: roll it into a log in baking paper, chill and slice coins as you need them; it keeps a month in the freezer.

10 min

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Sauce ravigoteHerb and caper vinaigrette

Ravigote, from the French for "to revive", is a sharp, herby vinaigrette from the old Paris bistro kitchen, spooned over warm potatoes, poached leeks, beans and boiled meats to wake them up. Shallots, capers, gherkins and a whole handful of chopped herbs are stirred into a mustard vinaigrette until it is more herb than oil. The common mistake is chopping the herbs too early, so they bruise and darken. Chef's tip: let the chopped shallot sit in the vinegar for 10 minutes first; it softens its raw bite.

10 min

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Tisane de tilleul (linden tea)

Carpentras, at the foot of Mont Ventoux, has been France's linden capital for over a century. In late June the flowering lime trees are harvested by hand, the blossoms and their pale papery bracts dried in the shade, and in July the town's linden market sells them by the sack. In French homes a tisane de tilleul is what you drink after dinner, at the end of a long day or before bed, often with a slice of lemon or a little honey; Proust's famous madeleine was dipped in one. It tastes softly floral and sweet, a little like honey and fresh hay, with a smooth, almost silky feel. The common mistake is using fully boiling water and steeping for fifteen minutes: the tea turns dull brown and slightly astringent. Let the kettle settle to about 90 °C and steep for 5–7 minutes, covered. It is ready when the infusion is pale gold and smells of a summer garden. It is traditionally drunk to unwind; if you take regular medication, have a heart condition, or want to give it to young children, check with a doctor first. Chef's tip: keep the pot covered while it steeps so the scented oils stay in the tea instead of the kitchen.

10 min

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Pisco sour

Lima drinks its pisco sour as the aperitif before a long ceviche lunch, and celebrates it every year on the first Saturday of February; the recipe took shape in the city's bars in the 1920s. It is for adults only and stronger than its pillowy look suggests. Underneath a thick white foam you get sharp Peruvian lime, a clean sweetness and the floral, grapey warmth of quebranta pisco, with the bitters adding a spicy smell to every sip. The texture should be silky, almost creamy, never thin. The classic mistake is squeezing the limes too hard or too early: the oil from the pith turns the drink bitter within half an hour. Halve the limes, press each half gently by hand just before mixing and stop when the juice slows. The egg white is raw, so use pasteurised egg white for anyone pregnant, for babies, older people or anyone unwell, or swap in 30 ml aquafaba. It is ready when the foam stands about 1 cm high and is firm enough to hold the drops of bitters on its surface. Sip one slowly and drink responsibly. Chef's tip: shake once without ice first to whip the egg white, then again with ice; the foam will be twice as thick.

5 min

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Mate de muñaAndean mint tea

Muña is the minty shrub that grows wild on the slopes around Cusco, Puno and the Sacred Valley, and highland cooks reach for it after a heavy meal of chicharrón or when visitors are struggling with the altitude. Market herb sellers sell it in fresh bunches, and hotels and homes leave it in a flask for anyone coming in from the cold evenings. Steeped simply in hot water, it smells somewhere between spearmint, oregano and pennyroyal, with a cooling, slightly peppery taste and a pale green-gold colour. It is traditionally drunk to settle the stomach. The usual mistake is boiling the leaves hard for a long time, which turns the tea brown and bitter. Pour water just off the boil over the sprigs, cover, and let it steep. It is ready when the cup is pale gold and the aroma rises as soon as you lift the lid. Outside Peru, look for dried muña in Latin shops; failing that, use mostly spearmint with a little fresh oregano. Muña is strong: avoid large amounts in pregnancy, and check with a doctor if you take regular medication. Chef's tip: cover the cup while it steeps so the scented oils stay in the tea.

8 min

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Chilcano de piscoPisco and ginger ale highball

When Lima's grey winter finally lifts and summer reaches the beaches south of the city, the chilcano takes over from the pisco sour: lighter, longer and made for an afternoon. Peru even gives it a Semana del Chilcano each January, and it is poured at weekend lunches with chifa or fried fish. This is a highball for adults only: pisco poured over a tall glass of ice with fresh lime and ginger ale, finished with a few drops of bitters. It should taste crisp and fizzy, with the ginger and lime lifting the floral grape notes of the pisco rather than hiding them. The common mistake is using too little ice and warm ginger ale, which gives a sweet, diluted drink that goes flat in minutes. Fill the glass to the top with ice and keep the ginger ale in the fridge until the last second. It is ready when the glass is frosty, the bubbles race up the sides and the bitters drift through the top as a pink haze. Light it may be, but drink responsibly. Chef's tip: try a fruit-infused pisco, made by steeping passion fruit or mandarin peel in the bottle for a few days; Limeños love a chilcano de maracuyá.

10 min

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Diabolo mentheMint syrup and lemonade

Ask anyone who grew up in France about diabolo menthe and they will remember sitting on a café terrace after school, or on holiday in Brittany or the Vendée, with a tall glass of startling green fizz and a straw. It is simply sirop de menthe, the sweet mint syrup sold in every French supermarket, topped up with limonade, which in France means a clear, lightly sweet, lemony fizzy drink. Grenadine makes a diabolo grenadine, lemon syrup a diabolo citron. It tastes cool, minty and sweet, like a liquid mint sweet, with a sharp sparkle. The common mistake is pouring the syrup on top of the lemonade: it sinks in a dense layer and you drink plain fizz followed by pure syrup. Put the syrup in the glass first and pour the lemonade down the side so it mixes as it rises. It is ready when the glass is an even mint-green from bottom to top and still fizzing hard. Café ratio is about one part syrup to seven parts lemonade. Chef's tip: for a homemade syrup, steep a big handful of fresh mint in hot sugar syrup for 30 minutes and strain; it will be pale gold-green rather than emerald, and tastes fresher.

3 min

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Jugo de macaWarm maca drink

Before dawn at markets in Huancayo, Cusco and Lima, juice ladies ladle hot jugo de maca from big pots for workers on their way in: maca root, a turnip relative grown above 4,000 metres in the Junín highlands, simmered with milk, cinnamon and cloves and sweetened with honey or sugar. It tastes malty and toasty, a bit like butterscotch. The common mistake is stirring the powder straight into hot milk, which leaves gritty lumps; whisk it into a little cold milk first. Maca is not usually advised in pregnancy, so ask your doctor first if you are pregnant. Chef's tip: use gelatinised (cooked) maca powder if you can find it; it dissolves smoothly and is gentler on the stomach.

10 min

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Citron presséFresh lemon drink

Order a citron pressé on a Paris terrace in July, or at a café in Nice after the beach, and the waiter brings a tall glass with an inch of freshly squeezed lemon juice, a carafe of iced water, a sugar bowl or a little jug of syrup and a long spoon. You build the drink yourself, as sharp or as sweet as you like, which is half the pleasure; French children learn to drink it with plenty of sugar, grown-ups often with almost none. It is bright, sour and cleansing, nothing like bottled lemonade, and best in the late afternoon heat. The common mistake is stirring granulated sugar straight into cold lemon water: it sinks and never dissolves, so the first sips are sour and the last a sludge. Dissolve the sugar in the juice first, or use a quick syrup. It is ready when the sugar has vanished, the drink tastes balanced to you and the glass is beaded with cold. Unwaxed lemons matter if you add a twist of peel. Chef's tip: pour the water over ice slowly and taste after half the carafe; most people find they need less water than they expect.

5 min

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Kir

Dijon's own aperitif carries the name of Canon Félix Kir, the priest who became the city's mayor after the war and poured blanc-cassis at every reception to show off two Burgundy products at once: the sharp white Aligoté grape and the blackcurrant liqueur made around the city. It is still what you are offered before a family Sunday lunch in Burgundy, with a warm plate of gougères. It is a drink for adults only, low-key and refreshing: tart, mineral white wine with a dark, jammy blackcurrant note, deep ruby-violet in the glass, served cold with no ice. The usual mistake is too much cassis, which makes a sticky, syrupy drink that hides the wine. Keep to about one part cassis to five or six parts wine. It is ready when the colour is a clear, deep pink-purple you can still see light through and the glass mists with cold. Enjoy one before the meal and drink responsibly. If you cannot find Aligoté, use any dry, unoaked, high-acid white. Swap the wine for Champagne or crémant and you have a kir royal. Chef's tip: pour the cassis in first and the wine on top; it mixes itself and you need not stir.

3 min

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French 75

The French 75 took its name from the light field gun of the First World War, because Parisian bartenders of the late 1910s and 1920s said it hit you just as hard. It has stayed a celebration drink in Paris and beyond: raised at weddings, New Year's Eve and long weekend brunches. It is for adults only and stronger than it tastes, so drink responsibly. A good one is bright and lemony with gin botanicals underneath, then a fine, persistent Champagne fizz that makes it feel light and dry. The common mistake is putting the sparkling wine in the shaker, which either blows the lid off or leaves the drink completely flat. Shake only the gin, lemon and syrup with ice, strain them into the glass and top with Champagne there. It is ready when the shaker is frosted, the foam has risen and fallen once, and a steady stream of small bubbles runs up the flute. Any dry traditional-method sparkling wine such as crémant works in place of Champagne; check the label if vegan matters. Chef's tip: twist the lemon peel over the glass, not into the shaker; the oil on the surface is the first thing you smell.

5 min

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Jambon-beurreHam and butter baguette

France sells millions of jambon-beurre every working day: half a crusty baguette, split, spread with good salted butter and filled with thin slices of jambon de Paris, the delicate cooked pork ham. Parisians eat it at the office, on a park bench or on the train. The common mistake is a stingy smear of hard butter; the butter is a filling, not a glue, so spread it soft and generous. Some add cornichons, which purists call a different sandwich. Chef's tip: fold each slice of ham loosely in half rather than laying it flat, so the sandwich is airy and every bite has ham.

5 min

French Fast Food

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PersilladeParsley and garlic mix

Persillade is the parsley-and-garlic mixture French cooks keep at hand, from Provence to the Périgord, to throw over sautéed potatoes, mushrooms, green beans, grilled fish or a lamb chop in the last minute of cooking. The heat just softens the raw garlic and releases the parsley's fresh, green flavour, so a dish tastes finished with far less salt. About 0.0 g salt per portion. The usual mistake is adding it too early: a persillade fried for more than a minute turns bitter and brown. A little olive oil helps it spread. Chef's tip: dry the parsley thoroughly before chopping, so it chops into fine, fluffy flecks instead of a wet green paste.

5 min

French Chutneys & Dips

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Jugo surtidoMixed fruit juice

Step up to any juguería in Lima's Mercado de Surquillo or a barrio market at breakfast time and order a surtido: the juicer drops papaya, banana, pineapple and freshly squeezed orange into a tall blender, sometimes a slice of cooked beetroot for colour or a splash of milk, and pours you a big glass with the rest left in the jug for your 'yapa', the free refill. It is thick but still pourable, sweet from ripe fruit with a sharp orange edge, the kind of drink that stands in for breakfast before a long day. The common mistake is adding lots of ice and water, which makes it thin and frothy rather than velvety. Use cold fruit and freshly squeezed orange juice as the liquid. It is ready when it coats the glass and no lumps of banana are left. This version is fruit only; stalls also make it with milk if you prefer. Drink it straight away: papaya and banana go brown and bitter within half an hour. Chef's tip: use very ripe papaya with orange flesh; under-ripe papaya tastes of nothing and gives a faintly bitter aftertaste.

10 min

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Refresco de coconaCocona cooler

In Iquitos, Pucallpa and the river towns of Loreto, heat and humidity make a cold refresco part of every lunch, and cocona is one of the favourites sold from plastic jugs at the Belén market. The fruit looks like a fuzzy orange tomato and tastes between tomato, lemon and apricot: very sour, aromatic and juicy. Blended with water and sugar it makes a tangy, golden drink with a light pulp, served with juane or tacacho con cecina. The usual mistake is skipping the fuzz: cocona skin is covered in fine hairs that make the drink scratchy, so rub them off under running water before you start. Blend only briefly, too, so the many seeds do not crack. It is ready when the refresco is opaque orange, sour first and sweet after, with no grit. Outside the Amazon, look for frozen cocona pulp in Latin American shops; naranjilla (lulo) pulp is the closest substitute. Chef's tip: a pinch of salt makes the fruit taste sweeter and fruitier without more sugar.

10 min