The Battle of the Bourguignons

Hello friends.

Maybe you’ve already figured this out, but I adore Julia Child. Before there was Anthony, there was Julia. And my favorite thing to make from The Art of French Cooking? Beouf Bourguignon.

It’s a full-day affair. By the time dinner’s ready, it looks like I’ve used every pan, bowl, and utensil I own. And finding bacon thick enough to meet Julia’s exacting lardon standards? Ha. Good luck.

Then there are the mushrooms. And the pearl onions. Each gets cooked separately—delicately, lovingly—to coax out the flavor and texture Julia demands.

It’s a masterclass in prep, patience, and time management.
Do I love making it? Absolutely. Top five for life.

So when I saw Anthony’s take in Les Halles, I had questions.
How would it compare?

His ingredients list was shockingly simple: beef, Burgundy wine, onions, carrots, garlic, bouquet garni (that’s thyme, parsley, bay leaves), water, and a spoon or two of demi-glace, if you’ve got it.

No mushrooms. No pearl onions. No bacon.

So I headed to the butcher for two pounds of paleron—aka chuck steak, but we’re speaking French today, n’est-ce pas? Oui.

Now, a brief culinary history flex: Beouf Bourguignon has been simmering in French kitchens since the Middle Ages. But it was Auguste Escoffier—yes, that Escoffier—who published the recipe and dragged it from peasant dish to culinary cornerstone. If Julia made French cooking accessible to Americans, Escoffier did it for the French. And arguably, for the world.

Truth be told, Julia’s version is closer to Escoffier’s than Anthony’s, but never mind that.

I browned the beef in four batches—easily the most annoying part of the recipe. You’re aiming for high heat to sear, but not so high that the smoke alarm stages a protest.

Once the onions and carrots joined the beef, everything simmered on the stovetop for two hours. Yes, the stovetop. I asked the ghost why not the oven. He sighed and muttered something about watching liquid levels. Did I want to argue? Of course. Did I? Not this time.

And then—again—into the fridge it went to be eaten tomorrow.

Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that one before.

But I did it. And yes, I tasted it first. It was…sweet.

I was surprised. Then I remembered an essay I read recently on one of the great culinary film scenes: the prison dinner scene in the movie Goodfellas. The writer suggested sweetening your gravy—not with sugar, but with a simmered carrot.

Anthony’s recipe calls for six carrots. Julia’s? One.

So I tucked it in the fridge for the night.

The next day, I boiled some potatoes (per Anthony’s suggestion) and warmed up the stew.

It was excellent.

I did strain the onions—they’d almost melted into the sauce but not quite, so the texture felt off. The photo in Les Halles shows clean, rich chunks of beef. Not wispy onion threads clinging like exes who won’t let go.

Anyway. That was dinner. And lunch. And probably dinner again for the next six days.

So… not beef next week. Open to suggestions.

Got a favorite? Want to challenge the ghost? Drop me a line. I love hearing from you.

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