Blanquette de Veau: French Veal Stew - The Elegance of White on White

I'm positive I can hear the condescending laughter of food snobs from all corners of the world as I'm composing this paragraph in my head. Though I'd heard of blanquette de veau since I was a kid, my first encounter with this sublime veal stew took place only a few years ago during a trip to Paris. Wait, that's not the uncool part; it's this one: I discovered it at, of all blessed places, the Louvre's food court -- the place where mediocrity reigns.

As if that wasn't enough fodder for ridicule, I liked what I had too. A lot.

That day started off really great. I got up early, went straight to the museum, and made a beeline to the Egyptian Antiquities section where I ended up spending the whole day. Those who know me well are well aware of the fact that one of my favorite historical figures of all time is Akhenaten or Amenhotep IV who I can hardly wait to incorporate into one of the future blog posts (I have incorporated the Dead Sea Scrolls into a food blog post before; a pharaoh shouldn't be a problem). The Louvre has lots of cool items from the Amarna period to which he belongs. I could spend -- no exaggeration -- days in that section alone.

You see, putting me in a place full of mummified bodies, parchment scrolls, and ancient pot shards is like letting a sugar-addicted kid loose in a candy store. People don't go to museums with me any more, because once I'm there I just won't leave.


It took the feeling of dizziness from not having eaten all day to remove me from that much-loved section of the museum -- something I doubt a bulldozer could have done. It was the kind of situational hypoglycemia that was severe enough to make someone pass out on the spot. Grabbing on anything that was nailed down, I finally staggered my way to the food court and ordered the first thing that I saw. Blanquette de veau.

Granted, my first blanquette wasn't the best version. But at that very moment, I couldn't have asked for anything better. Tender chunks of veal in creamy white sauce with carrots, mushrooms, and onions draping over a sizable scoop of rice. It hit the spot. It was as if someone somewhere had somehow foreseen how my day would go and prepared this ultimate comfort food just for me. To make this interpretation even more delusionally egocentric, they even served the white stew to this Asian girl over ... (insert a soft moan here) ... rice.

Food, in many ways, is like people. You don't love someone because they're perfect. You don't love someone based on recommendation from those who say this is a person worthy of love. You love someone because, having known them, you just cannot imagine not loving them. And such is the way it was with me and that plate of food court blanquette de veau.

Sure, it could have been better prepared and the vegetables could have been a little less mushy. But at that very moment, I was completely engulfed in the where-have-you-been-all-my-life feeling. Having inhaled every morsel, I sat there, basking in the warm post-meal glow. Who knew a food court dish could do this?


But then, you see, blanquette de veau is not supposed to be a fancy dish. Just because it has a French name doesn't mean it belongs in a higher class than, say, pot roast or apple cobbler. Blanquette de veau, is part of French farmhouse cuisine -- a humble, down-home dish deeply rooted in family tradition. Renowned French food historian, Jean-Louis Flandrin, has dedicated one whole book -- a very interesting read, by the way -- on the subject of blanquette de veau (La blanquette de veau: Histoire d'un plat bourgeois) in which he calls this veal stew a bourgeois dish par excellence.

In 2006, according to a survey conducted by Le Monde, the white veal ragoût was voted the top favorite of the surveyed 1,000 French adults leaving other traditional dishes such as bœuf bourguignon, pot-au-feu, lapin à la moutarde, and coq au vin, trailing behind. Making a debut on the French cuisine scene in Paris circa 1735, the original blanquette de veau started off as leftover veal roast with no accompaniments other than onions, and mushrooms. From the time of Word War II, it has re-entered the food scene as un plat principal -- a main dish -- to be served over white rice. This national dish is made in all regions of France with countless variations. For example, in Provence some garlic is added and in Bordeaux no cream is used. (source)

Ever since that meal at the Louvre, I have been making blanquette de veau according to Daniel Boulud's recipe. I just love the slight tang of the lemon juice added to the white cream sauce -- an addition that is not required in most recipes. You can serve the blanquette over pasta, but rice would be more traditional.

To make it an elegant white-on-white affair, you can do what I've done here which is omit the orange carrots and the brown mushrooms and go with the whit-ish kohlrabi and parsnips instead.