Your pasta dish needs hollandaise

At its best, hollandaise is pure alchemy — with nothing more than butter, lemon, egg yolk, salt. It’s silky, indulgent, and just acidic enough to feel like magic on the tongue.

But let’s be honest: you probably think you already know hollandaise. The brunch workhorse. The Eggs Benedict standby. The sauce you maybe attempted once and never tried again.

And yet — hollandaise has range. Yes, it’s temperamental. Yes, it will turn on you if you rush it. But get past the fussiness, and what you’ve got is a sauce that’s endlessly remixable: spicy, frothy, airy, even salad-dressing-adjacent.

The basics

I didn’t actually try hollandaise until culinary school, but when I did, I was transfixed. I loved its viscosity, that rich, luxurious texture that clung to everything it touched, enveloping everything it's heaped over. But the best part? The zing. That bright shot of lemon that cuts through all the butterfat like sunlight through fog. 

Just after I graduated, I decided — for reasons I still don’t fully understand — to make hollandaise at a friend’s house. It wasn’t a special occasion. We weren’t even particularly hungry. I just needed to show her. I set up a double boiler, had a pot ready to poach eggs, and started barking friendly sous chef orders across the kitchen.

And then, five minutes in: disaster. The emulsion broke. Little scrambled egg bits floated in what should have been a smooth, glossy sauce. I was irate. We still ate it, spooned over toasted English muffins with poached eggs, but I couldn’t get past the texture.

The next time I made it, I got it right. And ever since, I’ve sworn I’d never serve a broken hollandaise again.

So: learn from my mistakes. Making hollandaise at home can be fussy — but once you’ve mastered the basics, it becomes one of those low-effort moves that feels genuinely impressive.

There are a few ways to make hollandaise — some chefs swear by a blender or even the microwave — but I still use the double boiler method I learned in school. It gives me the most control, and that matters when you’re coaxing egg yolks into something glossy and stable. Here’s the deal: hollandaise is an emulsion, which just means you’re blending two things that don’t naturally want to mix (in this case, egg yolks and melted butter).

Start by whisking a few yolks with some lemon juice in a bowl over gently simmering water — you want steam, not direct heat. Once they’re slightly thickened, slowly drizzle in warm, melted butter while whisking constantly. If the butter goes in too fast, or the mixture gets too hot, the eggs can seize and scramble. But keep your whisk moving, and you’ll feel it: the moment the sauce thickens, holds, and gleams just slightly. That’s when you know you’ve got it.

Transform the flavor

At its core, hollandaise is all about balance. The classic version leans on butter for richness and lemon juice for brightness. And when it’s done well, that combination doesn’t need much else. A pinch of cayenne, maybe, or a dash of white pepper, just to keep things lively. It’s luxurious, but not heavy. The lemon lifts it.

But here’s where things get interesting: that lemon doesn’t have to be the only source of acidity. Hollandaise is built to carry flavor — not mask it, but elevate it. You can fold in yuzu juice or rice vinegar for a different kind of brightness. Add a spoonful of miso for depth, or swap in a bit of smoked paprika and lime for something that hints at patatas bravas.

On a recent episode of  “Top Chef,” the contestants were challenged to modernize a classic dish from a particular culture — with mixed results. Chefs Lana Lagomarsini and Vinny Loseto took on “Chicken Kama Sutra,” a dish made with chicken braised in a cashew gravy spiced with saffron. It appears on the menu at Dil Se, a well-regarded Toronto restaurant that, along with others, was highlighted in the episode as a source of inspiration. Whether the dish is actually rooted in traditional Indian cuisine is an ongoing matter of online debate. 

But still, their attempt to pair it with a spiced hollandaise was intriguing, even if the execution fell flat. I imagine they may have leaned on warming spices like cumin, turmeric, and cardamom, which are obviously not often thought of as companions to hollandaise. What their dish lacked in finesse, it offered in potential: a reminder that hollandaise, for all its French culinary pedigree, is more of a canvas than a mandate.

Even the texture is flexible. Want to make it feel lighter? Whip in a little extra air with an immersion blender or fold in crème fraîche for something closer to a mousse. Want it funkier? Try blue cheese and hot sauce for a wing-night hollandaise that somehow works — as long as you keep the proportions delicate, not bulldozed. The trick is knowing the sauce’s nature: it's velvet, not sludge. Even the boldest flavors need to play nice.

Hollandaise isn’t just for asparagus and Eggs Benedict. Once you start thinking of it as a base — not a relic — the possibilities multiply.

Use it anywhere

Once you’ve nailed the technique, hollandaise is yours to play with — and to use far beyond the brunch plate. It’s not just for Eggs Benedict and steamed asparagus. Think bigger.

Spoon it over roasted potatoes. Swirl it onto a plate beneath crispy chicken breasts or charred broccoli. Use it like aioli: spread onto a turkey sandwich, stirred into a chicken salad, or thinned with lemon juice and olive oil for a creamy, citrusy dressing. Toss it with fresh lobster chunks, enrobe cutlets with hollandaise and bread crumbs before frying, or make the most luscious broiled oysters you've ever had. Why not swap pasta sauce for a mascarpone-enriched hollandaise? Or whip it airy with crème fraîche or corn purée?

Technique may be the heart of hollandaise, but imagination is its secret weapon. Let it surprise you.