Sauce Hollandaise

Sauce Hollandaise sits on the German table in spring, when white Spargel, asparagus, comes in and the country starts behaving as if no other vegetable exists. Easter tables, May Sundays, a quiet dinner for two: pale asparagus, new potatoes, ham, and this warm yellow sauce. Not from a packet. Nicht aus dem Glas.

The regions argue in the usual useful way. Baden and the southwest will put Spargel beside Kratzete, torn pancake, with ham and plenty of sauce. Lower Saxony and the north often keep it plainer with new potatoes, Katenschinken, and melted butter. Some cooks say butter alone is cleaner. They're not wrong. But if you make Hollandaise, make it properly.

The whole dish is one technique: yolk and butter must meet warm, not hot. The yolks thicken because gentle heat unwinds their proteins slowly, and the whisk breaks warm butter into tiny droplets that the yolk can hold. Boil it and the proteins seize, the butter runs out, and you've got scrambled egg with expensive butter around it. Runter mit der Temperatur.

I build it over a bain-marie, a bowl over barely trembling water, and I watch the bottom of the bowl more than the clock. When the whisk leaves a trail, the yolk is ready. Butter goes in slowly at first, then steadier once the sauce has taken hold. Lemon and salt at the end. Würzen, Fett, Salz zum Schluss.