Wear the hat. Do the dance. Chant the prayer, gazing skyward. While casting the spell, juggle double boilers, whisks, water levels, thermometers and ingredients. If you perform perfectly, you’ll have heavenly Hollandaise sauce.

I must have been born in Hell. I’ve been making Hollandaise regularly since I was 12. I’ve never conjured. The sauce has never separated. I’ve never tasted a better sauce, not in restaurants nor residences.

I wouldn’t have attempted Hollandaise if the preparation had been as exacting and anxious as recipes typically dictate. Fuss isn’t my style. I like to play with food, not slave over it.

Last year a newspaper food section published an optimistic instructional article on sauces. Sauces are simple, the introduction implied.

“Yes,” I shouted, fist thrust upward in salute.

I read the directions for Hollandaise and lowered my fist. Once again, the ritual was printed instead of the recipe.

The ritual probably produces a decent sauce, but I’m leery. One of my tests to determine a good restaurant is to order a dish with Hollandaise. Most of the time I have to imagine lemon flavor. What’s the point of Hollandaise if not lemon? Often enough to disturb, the sauce separates as it settles over the food or runs around the plate, escaping solids. If I can be sued for curdling or runny sauce, why can’t restaurants?

My opinion: the standard instructions for preparing Hollandaise are fraught with the possibility of failure to intimidate those of us who haven’t paid to sweat professionally over a stove. Chefs would have us believe that we who fumble with food on faux marble counters used for myriad household chores can’t compete.

My secret to quick, easy, superb Hollandaise comes, oddly, from a traditional cookbook acquired in junior high home-ec. We didn’t make the sauce in class, but my parents’ love of lemon inspired me to try it. The following recipe is not a duplication. It’s been modified by many years of use to bolster the lemon and bare the mystery.

Hazardless Hollandaise

In a small saucepan over medium-low heat (I use #3 on an electric burner graduated from #1-#7) stir, constantly, egg yolks, lemon juice and ¹/₂ of the butter. Once the butter is melted, add the last portion of butter and continue stirring. The sauce thickens as the butter melts. When the sauce has thickened to your requirements, remove the saucepan from the burner and continue stirring for a minute or so while the pan cools.

That’s it. Takes about 20 minutes.

I usually use a wooden spoon and a non-metal saucepan, but I have used stainless steel implements without a hitch. It’s also a good idea to make sure all ingredients are very cold; this extends the melting time for the butter. I typically freeze the butter. I have, however, made the sauce with refrigerated butter and warm lemons without problems. I’ve never used Ponderosa lemons; my guess is, if you use one, you might want to add an extra egg yolk and add the butter in three portions instead of two, to extend the thickening time. Increasing the butter isn’t necessary.

If the sauce thickens too much or too quickly, squeeze in more lemon juice. Precision isn’t the secret to this sauce, egg yolks are. I discovered lately, when preparing a double batch for a family dinner, that I was short one egg yolk and ¹/₈ lb. butter. I made the sauce anyway. It turned out fine, it just took a little longer to thicken.

Leftover sauce will solidify like ignored pudding. To reliquefy, heat some lemon juice (start with a Tablespoon or two; don’t boil) and stir it into the sauce until you’ve recreated the desired consistency. Lemon flavor disperses as it sits. Reconstituting with lemon juice restores the reason for serving Hollandaise. Don’t reheat hardened sauce over the burner. My grandmother did this to my family dinner offering, once, and curdled the sauce, along with my heart.

I’ve also prepared a fresh tropical fruit/nut salad dressed with sweetened Hollandaise. Doubling the recipe, I used unsalted butter and sprinkled in 1 Tbl powdered sugar as the sauce thickened. Family members commemorate it.

You can add a variety of seasonings during thickening, including minced onions or cucumbers, and herbs or spices. One of my cookbooks defines Béarnaise as Hollandaise flavored with tarragon and vinegar instead of lemons, with a chicken broth base. The possibilities are endless.

If you want to worship the mystique of cooking, don’t let me stop you. If you want to enhance food with a smooth, pungent sauce honed by the silkiness of egg yolks and butter, without indenturing yourself to your kitchen, try it my way.

Text, Recipes & Graphics ©1999 by Gail Rae Hudson

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