Béchamel, the exemplar
A bechamel made once, and made for the *why*: the roux cooks out its raw taste before the milk hits, the milk goes in in thirds so it can't clump, and the butter at the end is what keeps the whole thing from tasting like a paste. The dish is the sauce, cooked once and used in a dozen.
Inspired by
The white-sauce station in a French bistro, where the bechamel is made in a clean pan, at the start of the service, and used for the rest of the evening — in a mornay over the macaroni, in a gratin under the vegetable, in a sauce suprême over the fish. The page is the sauce itself, as a dish: the ratio, the order, and the one ingredient that keeps it from tasting like a paste.
Technique notes
The whole method is bechamel and white sauces — the ratio, the order, and the one ingredient that keeps the sauce from tasting like a paste. The pan heat is on the low side: the roux cooks at a gentle simmer, and the finish is a swirl of cold butter, not a sear.
Why the restaurant does it this way
The order is the sauce. You can't add milk to raw flour and expect it to thicken — the starch hasn't gelatinized, and the liquid runs off the starchy particles as a paste that tastes like wet paper. So the roux comes first: the flour cooks out its raw taste in the butter, for 1–3 minutes, until it smells of toasty fat, not of paper. The milk goes in in thirds, because the first third of the milk hits the dry, hot roux and will clump if it's added too fast or beaten too slowly. The butter at the end is what keeps the sauce from tasting like a paste — the restaurant adds it at the pass, and it's the carrier for the flavor of the whole thing, and the one move that makes the difference between a "sauce" and a "bechamel." Season at the end, not the start: the salt and the white pepper go in after the sauce has thickened and cooled a little, because the salt at the start will pull moisture out of the milk and the sauce will be thinner and flatter.
Equipment
- A small, heavy-bottomed saucepan, wide enough to beat without splashing
- A whisk, and a spoon, for the beat and the stir
Ingredients
- 25 g (2 tbsp) butter, for the roux — the fat is the carrier, and the flavor of the finished sauce
- 25 g (2 tbsp) flour, all-purpose, for the thickener
- 250 ml (1 cup) whole milk, cold, for the body — the "two and a fifth" of the three
- A pinch of freshly grated nutmeg, added at the end, with the salt
- Salt and white pepper, to the taste, at the very end
- 10 g (1 heaped tsp) cold butter, for the finish — the restaurant's last move of the sauce
Method
- Melt the butter over medium-low heat, and when it's hot and just beginning to foam, add the flour. Stir for 1–3 minutes, until it smells of toasty fat, not of paper.
- Add the first third of the milk, and beat it in thoroughly before the next goes in. The first third of the milk hits the dry, hot roux and will clump if it's added too fast or beaten too slowly — that's the move that keeps the sauce from tasting like a paste.
- Add the second and third thirds the same way, and beat the sauce over a gentle simmer for 5 minutes, until it's smooth, slightly thick, and coats the back of a spoon.
- Take it off the heat, add the cold butter, and beat it in. The butter at the end is the carrier for the flavor, and the one move that makes the difference between a "sauce" and a "bechamel."
- Season at the end — the salt, the white pepper, the nutmeg — and taste the sauce after it's thickened and cooled a little. The salt at the start pulls moisture out of the milk and the sauce is thinner and flatter for it; the salt at the end is the whole move.
Common failures
- A lumpy, clumpy sauce with a raw-flour taste in it. The roux wasn't cooked long enough, or the milk went in too fast before the flour had time to gelatinize. The first third of the milk hits the dry, hot roux and will clump if it's added too fast — beat it in thoroughly before the next goes in, and the rest of the milk goes in more easily.
- A pale, thin sauce that coats the bottom of the spoon and won't hold. The roux was undercooked — the flour hadn't had time to cook out its raw taste, and the starch in the flour is what grabs the milk and holds it as a film. Cook the roux for 1–3 minutes, until it smells of toasty fat, and the milk will thicken it to the right body.
- A "paste" — the sauce is thick, and it tastes like wet paper. The butter went in too early, or not at all. The butter at the end is the carrier for the flavor, and the one move that keeps the sauce from tasting like a paste. The fix is the one move above: add the cold butter after the sauce has thickened, and beat it in at the very end.
Variations & substitutions
- A mornay, for the mac & cheese. The bechamel with a 100 g (3½ oz) of grated hard cheese (a cheddar, a gruyère, or a parmesan) beaten in after the butter is the lobster mac & cheese — the mornay is the sauce of the plate, and the bechamel is the skeleton of it. The cheese goes in after the butter, and after the sauce has thickened, and the plate is the one the whole thing is built around.
- A sauce suprême, for the fish. The same bechamel, thinned with a few tablespoons of the stock the fish was poached in and a pinch of chervil or tarragon, is the white sauce the bistro pours over the fish. The stock is the flavor of the fish, and the bechamel is the body of the sauce, and the two together are the "sauce" the dish is named for.
- A gratin, for the vegetable. The bechamel under a layer of chopped vegetable (a cauliflower, a potato, a broccoli) and a scattering of grated cheese, baked until the top is a deep gold, is the bistro's way of making the vegetable a dish. The sauce is under the vegetable, not over it, and the brown on top is the plate.
What to serve with it
It's not a dish to serve on its own — it's the skeleton of a dozen of them. The lobster mac & cheese is the plate that uses it as a mornay, with the lobster in at the pass.