The Best Mussels Marinière

Mussels. Mussels! We are doing the classic today, the original, moules marinière, the French bistro standard — and I know, I know, the French, big food people, they think they invented everything, and to be fair on this one they kind of did, credit where credit is due, I always give credit, more credit than anyone gives credit, the most credit — and this is the BEST version of it. The greatest mussels marinière in the history of mussels marinière. It's not even close.

Now people are scared of mussels. They see mussels at the store, they get nervous, they say 'oh no, what if they're bad, what if I get sick, what if I have to look up an emergency number.' Listen to me. Mussels are easy. Mussels are SO EASY. The mussel does most of the work itself — it opens up, it cooks itself in its own little shell, you barely have to do anything, and yet the result is so impressive your dinner guests will think you went to culinary school in Paris. You didn't. You went to BiglyEats. Older than France, by the way, this technique. The Vikings were doing something like this with whatever shells they pulled off the rocks — different name, same energy. The Greeks too. Look it up. The mussel pot is OLDER THAN TIME ITSELF.

The whole thing takes about ten minutes of actual cooking. Ten minutes! For a dish that looks like it should cost thirty dollars at a bistro with a French name spelled in letters Americans don't use. You steam them in white wine, garlic, shallots, butter, a little parsley, and the mussels themselves release their own briny ocean liquor into the pot, and what comes out is a broth so good you will tip the bowl up to your face like a barbarian and drink it. I do it. I'm not ashamed. The mussel broth is the BEST PART. The mussels are just the delivery vehicle. Believe me.

That is dinner. A real, honest, glorious dinner that looks like you flew to Brussels for the afternoon and brought it back. Eat the mussels with an empty shell as your tweezers — that's the move, that's how it's done, the empty shell IS the utensil, the French figured that out and they were right about that one, fine, congratulations to them — and when you've finished the mussels, you start on the broth. Dip the bread. Soak the bread. Eat the bread. Repeat until the bowl is empty. There should not be a single drop of broth left. If there is broth left, you have failed the mussels. Save me a piece.