10 classic French appetizers every American should try

First, the word “appetizer” is doing too much work

In America everything before the main course is an appetizer, whether you are standing in a kitchen holding a drink or sitting at a table with a fork. France splits this in two, and the split matters. The apéritif is the drink before dinner, with something small and salty to hold. The entrée is a proper first course, plated, eaten sitting down, with cutlery. Eight of the ten below are entrées. When an American asks me for French appetizers, they usually picture the first thing and I picture the second, and we are both slightly disappointed. If you want the drinks-table version specifically, my wife has written that one up.

1. Radis beurre — radishes with butter and salt

Raw radishes, cold unsalted butter, flaky salt. You hold the radish by its stem, drag it through the butter and dip it in the salt. That is the entire method and there is nothing else to it. In France this appears in spring, on tables, at apéro, without ceremony. What surprises Americans is the butter — the assumption seems to be that a vegetable should arrive with a dip rather than with a cold slab of fat, and that adding butter to a raw vegetable is either genius or a prank. It is neither. It is arithmetic: the radish is peppery, the butter is not. The full method is here, though calling it a method is generous.

2. Avocat crevettes — avocado with shrimp

Half an avocado, the stone removed, the hollow filled with small cooked shrimp and a spoon of sauce cocktail. Served cold, in the shell, with a teaspoon. This is a 1970s dish and France has never let it go, which tells you something about France. It is a standard summer entrée and it is on the menu of every provincial restaurant that has not been renovated. The American surprise is usually the pink sauce, which reads as dated — to which I say: yes. That is the point. Nobody is claiming this is modern. It is comforting in the way a wallpaper you grew up with is comforting.

3. Œufs mayonnaise — eggs with mayonnaise

Hard-boiled eggs, halved, covered in mayonnaise. That is the dish. There is a French association that exists specifically to defend its quality in restaurants, which is not a joke and which I support entirely. Served cold as an entrée, in bistros and at home, usually two halves per person on a small plate. Americans find it startling that this is a menu item rather than a thing you make standing at the fridge. But the mayonnaise is the dish — real mayonnaise, made properly, generous. Order this in a bistro and you learn more about the kitchen in one bite than from anything else on the card.

4. Poireaux vinaigrette — leeks with vinaigrette

Leeks, poached until soft, drained, cooled, and dressed with a sharp mustard vinaigrette. Sometimes chopped egg or shallot on top. Served cold or barely warm, as an entrée, and it is one of the most common starters in France. Americans, in my experience, do not eat leeks. They know leeks as something inside a soup, not something served as itself, lying on a plate, dressed. The surprise is the texture — silky rather than crunchy — and the vinaigrette, which is much sharper than an American dressing because it is not carrying any sugar.

5. Carottes râpées — grated carrot salad

Carrots, grated raw, dressed with lemon or vinegar, oil, salt, sometimes parsley. Eaten constantly. Every school canteen, every supermarket chilled aisle, every family kitchen. It is the most ordinary food in France and I would eat it four times a week without noticing. Americans are surprised twice: first that raw grated carrot is a dish rather than a garnish, and second that it has no raisins in it and is not creamy. The dressing is sharp and thin. It is not carrot salad in the American sense at all, which may be why nobody here believes me when I describe it.

6. Pâté de campagne — country-style pâté

Coarse pork pâté, cooked in a terrine, sliced thick, eaten cold with bread, cornichons and mustard. Rustic rather than refined — you can see what is in it. Bought from a butcher or a supermarket, not usually made at home, and eaten as an entrée or at apéro. The American hesitation is the word pâté and its association with liver, luxury and something spreadable in a tiny pot. Pâté de campagne is none of that. It is a thick slice of seasoned pork, closer to a coarse terrine than to a mousse, and the cornichon is not a garnish — it is the acid that makes the fat work.

7. Rillettes — slow-cooked shredded pork

Pork cooked very slowly in its own fat until it falls apart, then shredded and packed into a pot with the fat on top. You spread it thickly on bread. It is not smooth; you should see the strands. Sold everywhere, made at home rarely, eaten at apéro or as an entrée. What surprises Americans is the fat, which is visible, which is deliberate, and which nobody in France apologises for. Rillettes from Le Mans or Tours are the ones people argue about. Spread it thick. Spreading rillettes thinly is a small tragedy and I have watched it happen at my own table.

8. Melon au jambon — melon with cured ham

Half a Charentais melon, or wedges of it, draped with thin slices of cured ham. Served cold in summer, as an entrée, at home more often than in restaurants. There is no dressing, no basil, no balsamic reduction. Americans know this combination as prosciutto e melone and are usually surprised only by how plain the French version is — no arugula, no drizzle, nothing under it and nothing on it. The melon has to be good, which is the entire risk of the dish. A bad melon cannot be rescued by ham, though people try.

9. Escargots de Bourgogne — snails in garlic butter

Snails, baked in their shells under a large quantity of garlic-parsley butter, served in a dimpled dish with small tongs and a narrow fork. Almost entirely a restaurant dish, and a special-occasion one — no French family is making these on a Tuesday. The American reaction is predictable and I have stopped defending it. But the honest description is this: the snail is a texture, mild and slightly chewy, and the dish is really about the butter and the bread you use to finish it. Nobody in France orders escargots for the snail. We order them for the butter and we are not ashamed of it.

10. Gougères — warm cheese puffs

Choux pastry with grated cheese — usually Comté or Gruyère — baked into small puffs and eaten warm. This is apéro food, not an entrée: served standing up, with a glass of something, ideally still hot from the oven. Burgundy claims them. They are also the one item on this list that Americans have no objection to whatsoever, because they are cheese and pastry and warm. If you are cooking for French people and you are nervous, make gougères. Nobody has ever been unhappy to be handed one, and I include myself in that in every year of my life.

Which French appetizer should you try first?

Start with gougères if you are cooking, or radis beurre if you are not — both are three ingredients, both are impossible to dislike, and neither requires you to be brave. Once that goes well, move to œufs mayonnaise or carottes râpées, which are the true everyday food and the better test of whether you actually like French eating or just like the idea of it. Save escargots and pâté de campagne for last. Not because they are difficult, but because they are the two where the American imagination has already decided something, and it is easier to change your mind on a full stomach.

Apéro or entrée?

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