You slide a little fork into a roaring shell and find parsley butter already bubbling at the rim. The snail is almost an afterthought; what you came for is garlic, shallot and nutmeg riding butter in proportions that would be indecent anywhere else. Have bread ready.
Burgundy has eaten Helix pomatia since Roman times, but the dish as you know it — packed back into its shell with that green butter — belongs to the Côte d'Or. The Aligoté in the glass is there to cut the fat.
Do not stint the butter, and do not let the shells cool. Bake at 425°F until you can hear them. Serve at once, and save the last swipe of green butter for the baguette. That swipe is the point of the plate.
Method
- 01
Drain and rinse the snails, then pat them dry — they have been waiting in brine, and leftover water would dilute the butter. Finely chop the garlic, parsley and shallot until they are almost a paste, so they melt into the butter rather than sit in lumps. The parsley should be a vivid green; discard any yellowed leaves. You are building beurre d'escargot, and it begins here.
- 02
Beat the softened butter with the garlic, parsley, shallot, a pinch of nutmeg, salt and pepper until the whole mass is evenly, vividly green. It should smell of a garden and look like something you would happily eat from a spoon. Taste it. The garlic and parsley must announce themselves; this butter is the dish, and a timid one is a wasted plate.
- 03
Nestle a snail into each shell, or into each hollow of a snail dish if you haven't the shells. Pack the butter in generously, filling every crevice until it mounds slightly at the opening. The butter will melt and pool; that pool is what the bread is for. Arrange the shells so they sit upright and lose nothing in the oven.
- 04
Bake at 425°F until the butter is roaring and bubbling at the rim and the edges have taken a little color, 8 to 10 minutes. You should hear it. Serve immediately, with a baguette for what remains in the shell — that last swipe of green butter is the point of the plate. Do not let them sit; cold snail butter is a melancholy thing.
