In Brittany, the tide writes the menu. When it’s low, you walk among mussels and seaweed. When it’s high, you cook.

Moules à la crème et au cidre is the taste of that rhythm — half salt, half sweetness, all comfort.

 

Unlike its garlicky cousin from the north, this Breton version is softer. The cider gives a gentle fruitiness; the cream smooths the edges. The result is a bowl that smells of cliffs and apple trees, and tastes like coming home on a cold evening.

 

We first had it in Cancale, at a café by the port where boats leaned like tired horses against the tide wall. The mussels came in a black pot still steaming, and when we lifted the lid, the scent of cider and sea rose like a prayer. Someone nearby started laughing. That’s how you know it’s good.

 

 

The Recipe: Moules à la Crème et au Cidre

 

Serves 2–3

Time: 25 minutes

 

Ingredients

 

• 1.5 kg (3.3 lb) fresh mussels, cleaned and debearded

• 1 shallot, finely chopped

• 1 garlic clove, minced

• 250 ml (1 cup) dry Breton cider

• 150 ml (⅔ cup) heavy cream

• 1 tbsp butter

• 1 tbsp chopped parsley

• Salt and black pepper, to taste

• Optional: a splash of lemon juice or Calvados for depth

 

Method

 

Rinse the mussels thoroughly in cold water and discard any that stay open when tapped.

In a large pot, melt the butter and sauté the shallot and garlic gently until translucent. Pour in the cider and bring to a lively simmer.

 

Add the mussels, cover tightly, and steam for 4–5 minutes, shaking the pot occasionally, until the shells open.

Remove the mussels with a slotted spoon and set aside, keeping the cooking liquid.

 

Add the cream to the pot and simmer for a few minutes to thicken slightly. Season lightly with salt and pepper, then pour the sauce over the mussels. Scatter with chopped parsley.

 

Serve with hot fries or a hunk of baguette to chase the sauce — it’s too good to waste.

 

 

🍷 Wine (or Cider) Pairing

 

Skip the wine this time — stay true to the land. A dry Breton cider (cidre brut) is perfect: crisp, lightly bitter, with a whisper of apple sweetness.

If you must pour wine, choose a Muscadet Sèvre-et-Maine, from just across the border.

 

 

A Note from the Table

 

This is seaside cooking at its best — humble, fast, and full of grace.

It’s the sort of meal that doesn’t need a recipe, just a mood: wind in your hair, a pot that clatters, and enough cider to refill the glass once or twice.

 

And if you’re ever near Dinard when the sky turns silver, find a café by the beach and order the mussels. The waiter will bring a pot big enough for two. You’ll finish it alone.