Parisian Bistro Menu: Starter - Oeufs Mayonnaise
"To serve Oeuf Mayonnaise is to make clients feel at home. " - Guilherme de Carvel
As I not-so-subtly hinted in my previous post, the first menu for this new chapter of Hardcore Supper Club is inspired by the Parisian Bistro. This is not a direct lift of a particular historic bistro’s menu. Instead, this meal is populated with dishes that I feel best illustrate the rise, fall, and reemergence of the bistro. We’re kicking things off, appropriately enough, with a starter: Oeuf Mayonnaise. Oeuf Mayonnaise is arguably the bistro’s best-known and most loved appetizer. This dish is exactly what it sounds like—a hard-boiled egg, split in two, and draped in mayonnaise. And I know what you’re thinking, and you are correct, that is a lot of egg for one dish. I think that’s what I love about it: the light absurdity of egg on egg. The egg is at once both a vessel and a condiment. It certainly highlights its versatility.
But beyond my personal fascination, it felt important to include Oeufs Mayonnaise not only for its historic and continued importance on bistro menus today, but because, as the co-founder of the Association to Safeguard Egg Mayonnaise (ASOM), Guilherme de Carvel noted, the dish represents “the essence of the restaurant industry”. Carvel said, “to be a restaurateur is to host people, to make them happy, to show them a good time.” A modestly priced dish like oeuf mayonnaise is not expected to turn a profit. It is not a big-ticket item with a good return. Instead, the dish is an act of hospitality. As Carvel notes, “to serve oeuf mayonnaise is to make the clients feel at home.” This just about sums up the entire raison d’etre of the revamped Hardcore Supper Club. If that isn’t ringing any bells, read the article before this one, and all will be clear.
But to understand the dish, we must first understand the origins of the Parisian bistro. And that starts with the French Industrial Revolution. France entered its industrial revolution later than many of its contemporaries. Compared to Britain, the French were slow to adopt steam technologies. This was largely due to a shortage of coal, a reliance on water power, and the political influence of artisanal guilds. But once the railway system found its feet in the 1840s, mechanization began in earnest, leading to an enormous uptick of rural emigration to the nation’s capital. Between 1800 and 1900, Paris’ population swelled from 500,000 to 2.5 million. Factory jobs were plentiful, but living quarters were predictably small and cramped. Most factory workers did not have access to a kitchen in their primary residence, so they were forced to seek out a warm meal on the streets of Paris. It was to fulfill this specific need that bistros emerged.
In many ways, the Parisian bistro is where France got to know itself. Often referred to as the “working class’ living room,” the earliest bistros served budget-friendly meals from apartment basements. Far from the haute cuisine of the upper classes, bistros specialized in “plats menager” or housewife dishes. Many of the first bistros were owned and operated by migrants from the Auvergne region of France. They made a name for themselves as coal merchants and gradually expanded their fuel shops to include wine and liquor. And once booze was on offer, meat, snacks, and other delights were served alongside samples. The food offerings were peasant dishes from the region the Auvergnats had left behind.
The Auvergnats may have been the most prolific, but they weren’t the only group of migrants to enter the bistro game. People from Lyon, Perigord, Brittany, and Provencal also took up the mantle of hospitality. And they, too, served the food from the home they had left behind. This is what I mean by France getting to know itself. It was within the bistro that the citizens of Paris had the chance to taste the flavours of the country’s rural regions. Unknowingly codifying a comprehensive national culinary identity that would later become an important cultural export.
When you look at the history of Oeuf Mayo, you’re more or less seeing the timeline of the bistro. The rise, the fall, and the resurgence; the turning points of each mirroring the other. While the dish likely graced handwritten chalkboard bistro menus long before, Oeuf Mayo was first documented in print in the 1906 book entitled Eggs, 1000 Ways to Prepare and Serve Them. The dish emerged and became an instant favourite at bistros and bouillons due, in no small part, to its low price point. Oeuf Mayonnaise became an emblem of working-class Parisian eating. At bouillons, essentially working-class canteens, you would simply be served a hard-boiled egg, still in its shell, with a bowl of mayonnaise on the side. Bistros put a little more effort in, serving the eggs peeled and cut in half, blanketed with freshly whipped mayo. The dish’s widespread adoption and cultural impact were so great that it was sold on the black market during World War II rationing.
But by the 1980s, the Oeuf Mayonnaise and bistros had fallen out of favour. Health concerns around high cholesterol led diners to forego eggs altogether. At the same time, bistros found themselves in the midst of an existential crisis. Nouvelle Cuisine had taken the Parisian dining scene by storm. And the lofty ideals of the movement didn’t gel with the “stodgy” bistro classics. Nouvelle Cuisine emphasized short cooking times to preserve natural textures and flavours, abandoning heavy sauces in favour of light broths, emulsions, and reductions. Artful presentations and small portions were paramount. This was a far cry from the hearty portions of stews and egg-rich sauces that bistros had built their legacy on.
During this time period, many bistros shuttered. Between 1960 and 1992, the number of bistros in France plummeted from 200,000 to 70,000. The bistros that remained eschewed their classics like oeuf mayonnaise in favour of more complex, lighter dishes. It was under these circumstances that oeuf mayonnaise nearly went extinct. But, as it so often does, the pendulum swung back in the bistro’s and the oeuf’s favour in the 1990s. The decade saw the first earnest revival of the traditional bistro. The celebrated food critic Claude Lebey, fearing the permanent demise of the bistro, dedicated his entire 1987 restaurant guide to the bistro. And he paid particular attention to its storied emblem - oeuf mayonnaise. He claimed the dish is “as indispensable to cuisine as the paperclip is to the office.” Please bear in mind that he wrote that in the late 80s, when the need for clipping paper was high.
So great was his passion for the dish that he founded the Association to Safeguard Egg Mayonnaise (ASOM), noted at the beginning of this article. The organization's only directive was, and is, to protect historic bistro dishes from extinction. Lebey eventually retired from the organization in 2013, but his grandson, Vincent Brenot, took over in 2018, revitalizing the organization under a new tagline: “Le temps passe mais les œufs durs”, or “time passes, but hard-boiled eggs endure.”
The group still holds an annual oeuf mayonnaise competition that adheres to a strict set of rules laid out in the “Egg Mayo Charter”. So with that in mind, let’s explore the rules and see how my rendition stacks up. The rules state that the egg must be a chicken egg with a firm, set white and a velvety, slightly jammy yolk. The mayonnaise must be homemade, seasoned, and flexible, meaning it should “thoroughly blanket” the egg. Hitting the proper balance of oil, mustard, and acidity is crucial. As far as presentation is concerned, the dish should be simply and “traditionally” garnished. A lettuce leaf, a smattering of chives, or a hint of tarragon for colour is the extent of premissable flourishes.
I think my take on Oeuf Mayonnaise nails the jammy yet velvety yolk and gently set whites. I may have overstepped by making my own tarragon oil and using it to make what I suppose you could call a tarragon mayo. I do think the mayo has the correct consistency - it is certainly blanketing the egg. As for achieving the proper balance of acidity, I always assume there is room for improvement, but I was fairly satisfied with how this mayo turned out. And as far as garnish goes, I’ve probably erred on the side of garish. The French would likely not approve of my use of julienned radish, and perhaps the frisee is too showy, but I have to be me. So without further ado, here is my rendition of the storied Oeufs Mayonnaise.
Enjoy!
