Boeuf Bourguignon: French Cuisine’s Complex Roots

8 min readNov 13, 2021

France has always been one of those places that is inextricably associated with food. Our very word for the entire culinary output of a culture is a French one. And, despite the semi-good-natured whinging about Paris and the French folk, people from all over the world flock to this nation for its noble romanticism and to sample the delights that pour forth from French kitchens. Yet, French Cuisine has always held a lofty position in the pantheon, a haughty and suitably Gallic place, having given birth to the elite haute-cuisine, the guide Michelin, and much of what modern dining-out is all about.

“French Cuisine has always held a lofty position in the pantheon, a haughty and suitably Gallic place…”

This reputation, somewhat unfairly, follows all French food. It follows the table settings and the wine and the ambience. It follows these things boldly and barely in the shadows — so much so that foreigners may just believe that every Frenchman lives the luxury of dining out every day with a full course meal and a bottle of Château Rothschild as a simple accompaniment! I needn’t state that this is an obvious myth. If we consider other cuisines, we rarely see this connexion with such pure luxury. Because Italian food, for example, the other major cuisine on par with French in international reputation has always embraced some element of poverty — pasta as a filling starter, stale bread dishes, acquacotta (cooked water!) — we have always understood in a context as being something ‘of the people.’ A fact that may surprise some is that normal French people eat. And they eat well! Sometimes they even eat things like beef bourguignon…

“Beef Bourguignon occupies a strange hinterland betwixt the two classes of the revolution.”

Beef Bourguignon occupies a strange hinterland betwixt the two classes of the revolution. I imagine it to be the dish of a vintner or some other member of the mercantile class. Its ingredients are too rich for a peasant dish; its execution too clumsy for the king! Mushrooms, multiple types of meat, Burgundian wine… This is a touch of luxury brought to you in the form of a comforting and rich stew, served with velvet-smooth mash and a glass of that very same Burgundy. This is a dish that speaks to the man in the middle, it is something everyone can enjoy in principle and, for that reason, I see it as a true symbol of the France we know and love. Stews have always kept people going, they are almost certainly one of the earliest dishes, perhaps beaten only by barbecue and bread. Stews and soups were primed to emerge as soon as we invented waterproof pottery that could be cooked in. That’s a long time! Of course, with the antiquity of winemaking and meat preservation and stewing, we could even imagine a prehistoric Bourguignon. But we won’t…

Where does Bourguignon come from?

The recipe as we know it first appears in the 19th century. And indeed, it quite smacks of the more luxurious turn the middle classes were seeing during industrialisation. As previously mentioned, the destitute were likely not making this dish in the form we know it. And there are two sources I enjoy consulting for this kind of food. The Larousse Gastronomique and Julia Child’s seminal Mastering the Art of French Cooking. These two works serve as a great reference for the slightly démodé cuisine from the noble era before nouvelle cuisine hit the restaurants and phở hit the home. Bourguignon is unashamedly maximalist with savoury things, it is difficult to serve in a way that isn’t slopped on a plate. It is a liquid, hearty food from the bistro and it is just old enough people favour other things over it. It is the food of 1970s holidays, and of grandparents reaching out to embrace the ‘exotic.’ But that is exactly the kind of food I love on cold Autumnal days!

So, how can we make a version that makes a fool of any denier? Easy…

Bourguignon is an extremely simple recipe with a straightforward execution, there is very little to screw up. It is, however, a dish that rewards the patient! One reason for this is the prevalence of wine in it. Anything stewed in wine requires enough time that the sourness, astringency and rawness of the wine are cooked away and replaced by sweetness, meat juices and balance that makes a good meal. Here we are going classic, a juicy, ripe pinot noir — the characteristic grape of Burgundy — a variety sommelier Madeline Triffon famously referred to as ‘sex in a glass.’ Indeed, even the two-quid-fifty-a-litre, locally produced stuff I’ve procured here is eminently drinkable, good even. This is the crucial thing for this dish, if we use something too tannic or, heaven forbid, too sweet we will ruin the final result. A good, pretty dry (though actually, I am warming to a little residual sweetness in the dish!) cheap table pinot noir is perfect. To all the out of touch TV chefs, whose dictum ‘something you would drink,’ will crank up the price of your dish several hundred percent: get it together! Please test this theory! Ok. Ok. I admit we mustn’t use something disgusting or artificial, but there are several cheap vin de table that I certainly wouldn’t drink much more than a sip of for fear of the headache of a lifetime (here’s looking at you, plastic barrel wine from that university trip to the Alps…) yet, this is perfectly acceptable for cooking. It cooks away into a generic flavour. Take it to a sommelier and ask them to identify what you put in, take it to a chef. They will not be able to. Just use a suitable wine.

“[The] dictum ‘something you would drink,’ will crank up the price of your dish several hundred percent…”

Indeed, with all the other stuff going on, the price of the wine and its drinkability is a minor concern. What is of crucial importance is the meat. Obviously, there is beef but also the stew is complimented by savoury, melting nuggets of smoked pork lardon, or bacon for us Saxon heathens, slabs of bacon are an uncommon sight at home but, in this case, we can substitute smoked pancetta, or even pop into the local Polish shop, where slab bacon can be found easily and cheaply. The smoked, fatty meat melts into the stew. Then the simple matter of mushrooms, carrots and baby onions (something I have not managed to procure for my own!) that round out the beef, pork and wine et voila.

When a recipe is this simple, care must be paid to quality and technique. I may always bang on about these things but they allow us to use knowledge and practice to transform very humble things into masterful dishes. This is the essence of cooking traditional plates from a poorer past. So taking the time to slowly cook our veg and brown the meat and simmer and reduce the sauce is time well spent. I always begin with mushrooms, cooking them to drive out moisture. Mushrooms, nature’s strange and savoury sponges, hold a lot of water and soak up a lot of oil. They should be fried over high heat until they are well browned. Don’t worry, these champion champignons (couldn’t resist) can take it. When they are brown I then deal with the onions, and let them soften, grow translucent and finally just begin to brown, this means turning the pan down to medium-low. It should take 5–10 mins. Make sure that there is enough oil to lubricate the pan. This applies when using both baby onions or diced large onions. Finally, the meat is browned and set aside. As the meat tends to create a larger amount of frond (the browned stuff on the bottom of the pan) it is best to leave it until last to avoid burning the bottom. If the bottom of the pan is very blackened the wine will liberate this muck from the bottom of the pan during the long bath it will be getting. In this case, the dish will be bitter and taste burnt. You want the bottom of the pan to stay brown.

Finally, the true secret to a perfect braise is the roux. Roux is a mixture of flour and fat that serves to thicken and flavour sauces. I will deal with it in much more depth soon. But basically, the thickening power relies on how raw the flour is and the flavour relies on how cooked it is. As we do not want much thickening, nor the muddying influence of raw flour, we will cook a small amount of roux to a nice medium brown colour. This is perhaps the part that takes the most patience. The slower a roux is cooked, the more even the results. However, I usually do not have the patience for the hour-long cook that some Cajun chefs may recommend! Aiming to reach a stage where the roux is the colour of peanut butter or a little darker in about 5–10mins is my personal sweet spot, and it takes some practice. The first few attempts may be too slow out of caution or you may be bold and scorch small touches of the flour. Neither is a huge problem as long as the roux is not burned (lest it be bitter!)

When the roux is ready, and looks like thin darkish peanut butter in the pan, the wine can be added while stirring vigorously to create a smooth sauce and cook away some of the alcohol. Beware, a pan with no water can become very hot and as the wine is added it will likely spit. Beyond this, I always fortify my flavour with a little stock and some salt (not too much) before adding the browned components back in. Depending on the cut of meat, you will then braise this in the oven for perhaps an hour and a half up to five hours. If you are using a leaner cut of beef, the components can be added together and given this shorter time. If using something that is very tough add the other things into the stew later. This is both very subjective on your tastes and reliant on your particular ingredients. Regardless, leave any baby onions to the side and add them just for the last 10–20 mins. I personally also choose to add carrots at this time too, so they are just soft but not mushy. The entire braise can be rounded out with a bouquet garni. Serve with your leftover wine and some crusty bread, polenta or potatoes to soak up the gravy and perhaps a lifesaving side of green vegetables!