Lemony, Buttery Francese: Chicken Breasts Never Had it So Good

Francese is timeless with home cooks, too. (In 2018, the New York Times food reporter Julia Moskin’s version ranked as the paper’s most popular recipe of the year.) That bright, satiny sauce and rich, savory egg coating make it feel luxurious, but the everyday ingredients and straightforward method keep it just as grounded as any other cutlet. And like other simple sautés, this dish is flexible and has evolved over time.

My approach starts with pounding: I like very thin cutlets that cook through by the time the coating is golden brown, so I cut and flatten each breast into three ¼-inch-thick pieces and then briefly salt (and pepper) them for flavor and to help them retain moisture during cooking. I also like a relatively thin and tender egg coating—just sturdy enough to hug the meat without tearing—so I shake off extra flour to avoid excess egg from clinging. And I whisk water into the eggs to dilute their proteins; that way, the proteins won’t bond too tightly and toughen as they cook.

The tricky thing about chicken Francese’s egg‑on‑the-outside coating is that it can slip off if the eggs don’t set quickly enough. After a few tries, I discovered that oil volume is key: You need enough of it in the pan (⅔ cup for a 12-inch skillet) that the oil just crests the sides of each cutlet, creating a dam of sorts that supports the coating until it’s cooked enough to stay put. And given that extra-virgin olive oil (the classic Francese cooking medium) is pricey, I use a 50/50 blend of olive and vegetable oils. The cost of the dish goes down, and the cutlets still benefit from some of the olive oil’s fruity bitterness.

As for the sauce, I invest a little extra effort in mine to make the lemon flavor more than just tangy. In fact, I put the whole fruit to work: juice for acid to balance the rich butter; zest for its floral, spicy-sweet fragrance; and skin-on slices that I brown in butter and use as a complex-tasting garnish.

After sautéing garlic, I pour white wine and chicken broth into the pan and substantially reduce the liquid to concentrate its flavor. Then I add the lemon zest and juice (delayed additions to preserve their volatile flavors), followed by 3 tablespoons of cubed butter that I dredge in flour—a shortcut to the classic French beurre manié butter-flour paste that thickens the sauce just as effectively, enriching it to the consistency of heavy cream.

Spooned over the cutlets, the sauce seeps into the coating so that every bite is bright and aromatic. And thanks to the chemical interplay between the lemon’s zest and cottony pith, the browned slices offer a hint of bitter citrus bite that’s tempered by the heat into something round, beautifully balanced, and, well, timeless.