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stop. And throw in extra if you feel it could take it. Still whisking, squeeze in the juice of half a lemon—I love watching the yolk-yellow goo suddenly lighten—and add the salt, pepper (grinding in white pepper, if you’ve got it), and more lemon juice to taste.
    When the sauce is ready, you can fill a saucepan with tepid water and suspend the top of the double boiler over that (this time with the base of the top submerged) to keep it warm for about 20 minutes, but beat it firmly again before serving. If the sauce looks as if it might curdle while you are making it, you can quickly whisk in an ice cube (to bring the temperature down) or stand the top of the double boiler in a saucepan of cold water and whisk well.
    Hollandaise is not an essential accompaniment for asparagus, but a pretty divine one. I love it, too, made with saffron threads—a large pinch or ¼ teaspoon, however you prefer to measure it—softened in and added with the lemon juice.
    SAUCE MALTAISE
    You should know that sauce maltaise is a hollandaise with blood-orange juice. I don’t go for it; I prefer, if I want that particular realm of flavor, to substitute Seville orange juice for the lemon juice. This means (if you don’t freeze your Seville oranges) you can make it only in January or February (see Foods in Season, page 42 ). As a once-a-year accompaniment to plain, baked, or grilled white fish and broccoli, it might be a treat, but proceed—as with all deviations from the classical—with caution.
    BÉARNAISE
    for Dominic
    I grew up believing, erroneously, that sauce béarnaise was just a hollandaise with chopped tarragon in it. Up to a point, it is. And if you want to make a quick almost-béarnaise, use my mother’s method, which is to say follow the recipe for hollandaise above, adding 1 teaspoon dried tarragon to the egg yolks and then stirring in some freshly chopped tarragon at the end. Use a little lemon only, and lots of pepper. Be careful: too much tarragon can evoke that manure-underfoot, farmhouse scent, although I don’t know why. When I was a child and dried herbs weren’t considered as ignominious as they are today, we made béarnaise without any fresh tarragon, though with a drip of tarragon vinegar along with the squeeze of lemon juice. Unless you are trying to create the great classic in its purest form, be kind to yourself. If you can’t get chervil, be assured that the sauce will still taste fabulous with just tarragon. Equally, you can use 4 tablespoons of vinegar and omit the wine.
    This is my desert island sauce; there’s little better in the world to eat than steak béarnaise. (It’s also very good with salmon.) If you substitute mint for the tarragon, you have a sauce that goes very well with lamb, especially steaks cut off the leg and plain grilled.
    1 tablespoon minced shallots
    2 tablespoons fresh tarragon leaves, chopped, and their stalks, chopped roughly and bruised
    1 tablespoon chopped chervil (optional)
    2 tablespoons wine or tarragon vinegar
    2 tablespoons white wine
    1 teaspoon peppercorns (preferably white), crushed or bruised
    3 egg yolks
    1 tablespoon water
    16 tablespoons (2 sticks) unsalted butter, soft, cut into ½-inch dice
    salt and freshly milled white or black pepper
    juice of ¼–½ lemon
    Put the shallot, tarragon stalks, 1 tablespoon of the chopped tarragon, and the chervil, if using, and the vinegar, wine, and peppercorns in a heavy-bottomed saucepan and boil until reduced to about 1 tablespoon. Don’t move from the stove; this doesn’t take long.
    Press the reduced liquid through a regular or tea strainer and leave to cool. Put egg yolks and water in the top of a double boiler. Set over the bottom, in which water has come to a simmer. Add the reduced and strained liquid and whisk well. Keep whisking as you add the butter, cube by cube, until it is all absorbed. Taste, season as you wish with the salt and pepper, and add lemon juice as you wish. Treat it as the hollandaise to keep it warm