Name: JB’s Coquilles Saint-Jacques
Prep time: 25 min
Cook time: 20 min
Total time: 45 min
Yield: 4 servings
Cuisine: French
Ingredients: 1 pound fresh sea scallops, cleaned; 2 tablespoons unsalted butter; 1 shallot, finely chopped; 1 cup cremini mushrooms, finely sliced; 1/2 cup dry white wine; 3/4 cup heavy cream; 1/4 cup grated Gruyère cheese; 1/4 cup breadcrumbs; 1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley; Salt and pepper to taste

Let Me Tell You About JB’s Coquilles Saint-Jacques

I always laugh thinking about my first try with Coquilles Saint-Jacques. Picture it: me, a bottle of white wine (half in the sauce, half in my glass—don’t judge), frantically Googling what the heck to do with scallops. I’d seen the fancy shells and imagined it’d be tricky as juggling flaming onions. Turns out, it’s mostly just butter, cream, and the bravery to make a slight mess. JB’s version—my version, I guess—has made more than one random Tuesday feel like a fancy bistro night. I’ve even had a friend say it tastes like “Julia Child after two espressos,” whatever that means.

Why I Keep Coming Back to This Dish

I usually make this when it’s too miserable outside to leave the house, or when I want to feel like I live in an old tiny Paris apartment (minus the noise). My family goes crazy for it because it’s rich without being over the top, and honestly, it’s one of the few times my kids ask for seconds on shellfish. Sometimes I get lazy and skip the fancy shells—just use a ramekin. Nobody cares. But if you do the shells, expect applause—even if just the polite kind. Also, this recipe is forgiving. The sauce broke once (it separated a little?), and nobody even noticed past the crispy cheese top.

What You’ll Need from the Shop (or Cupboard)

12-20 fresh scallops, patted dry (I’ve swapped frozen in a pinch—just make sure to thaw & pat dry or the sauce gets soupy)
1 big handful of button mushrooms, chopped small (shiitake are fine, too—my neighbor swears by them)
3 tbsp unsalted butter (my grandmother always insisted on salted; I never noticed the difference, honestly)
1 shallot, minced (red onion works if shallots are $6 a pound, yikes)
About 1/2 cup dry white wine (I use whatever’s open—pinot grigio, occasionally even that boxed stuff in the fridge)
1/2 cup heavy cream (sometimes I mix in a little sour cream—changes the vibe but it’s tasty, trust me)
1 heaped tbsp flour (all-purpose is fine—it’s just for thickening)
3 tbsp grated Gruyère (cheddar works in a crisis, and yes, I’ve used that pre-shredded bag cheese before)
2 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped, or just a good shake of dried if you forgot
Paprika or cayenne, just a pinch
1/2 lemon, juiced
Salt and black pepper to taste
(Optional) Fancy scallop shells or ovenproof ramekins

How I Actually Make It (No Stress)

Sauté the Mushrooms & Shallot
Heat 1 tbsp of butter in a skillet. Add mushrooms and let them brown for a minute before tossing in shallot. Cook until everything smells amazing and the liquid disappears. Don’t worry if the pan looks a bit too dry—just push on.
The Scallop Bit
In go the scallops—toss them with the mushrooms ’til they just turn opaque. This is where I usually sneak a scallop (chef’s treat), but you don’t have to. Remove everything from the pan and set aside—try not to eat it all, though.
Make the Sauce
Add the rest of your butter to the pan. Sprinkle in flour and whisk like you mean it (it’ll clump at first—don’t panic). Pour in your wine slowly, whisking the whole time; scrape up the tasty browned bits. When it’s sort of smooth, add cream. Let it bubble gently, then stir in a good squeeze of lemon, a shake of cayenne, and season with salt and pepper. Sauce should coat a spoon by now.
Mix and Fill
Toss the mushrooms and scallops back in and stir everything together. Spoon into shells or ramekins. Sprinkle with Gruyère and a bit more parsley. (Actually, sometimes I throw on way too much cheese. Sue me.)
Bake to Golden
Crank the oven to about 220°C (425°F) and bake shells for around 15 minutes—cheese should blister and brown. Don’t worry if it bubbles over the edge. That’s the tasty bit anyway.

Notes from the Front Lines

Honestly, the step where you thicken the sauce… it always looks a little off before it comes together. Trust the process. Every time I’ve doubted it, it’s worked out fine.
I used to rinse scallops, but now I just blot them dry. Less water means better browning and you avoid weird steamed flavor.
If your cheese browns too quickly, just stick a bit of foil on top. Or turn down the heat a little. On second thought, I kind of like the crispy cheese edges.
Grating your own cheese is better, but the pre-shredded stuff saves time and arm muscles.

If You Want to Experiment…

I once made this with shrimp mixed in. Not bad, but the sauce turned pink and my family stared at me like I ruined their dreams.
Added tarragon once—probably the only herb that made it taste less French somehow. Maybe pass on that one. But parsley works every time.
If you’re feeling posh, top with a few breadcrumbs for crunch. Or not. I won’t tell anyone.

Tool Talk—But Don’t Sweat It If You Don’t Have the Gear

If you’ve got the classic Coquille shells, congrats! But ramekins, muffin tins, or even a lined baking sheet works fine (did that once at a friend’s cabin; not fancy, but delicious). A small, sharp knife helps with the shallot, but in a pinch, whack it with the side of a big knife and call it rustic.

Leftovers and Keeping It Fresh

Technically, you can store leftovers (tightly wrapped in the fridge) for a day or so—but honestly, in my house it never lasts more than a night. I think it tastes even richer the next day, but my kids keep proving me wrong by polishing it off immediately.

How I Like to Serve It

Try it as an appetizer if you’re feeling French, or just make it your whole dinner with a bitter green salad and some crusty bread. Or chips… don’t knock it till you try. In my family, someone always sneaks more lemon on top. Oh, and a side of green beans never hurts—makes you feel slightly virtuous.

A Few Things I Wish I’d Known

Once I tried to rush the baking step and ended up with chewy, sad little scallops. Don’t do that. The patience pays off (and now I just set a timer and walk away).
Using too much wine drowns the flavor. Be moderate—it’s not a soup!
Don’t scrimp on the cream, or you’ll get a weird, watery sauce. If you’re out, try a bit of mascarpone in a pinch, but regular milk won’t cut it.

Questions Friends Have Actually Asked Me

Can I use frozen scallops?: Absolutely—just thaw them well and pat dry. If you skip that part, you’ll basically get scallop soup. Not fun.
Do I have to use Gruyère?: Nah, although it gives that nutty edge. I’ve done cheddar or comté, and once even jack cheese (don’t recommend… a bit too gooey).
Is this super fishy?: Nope! It’s creamy, savory, and just seafood-y enough. Unless your scallops smell weird before you start—then maybe walk away and get takeout.
How do I clean the scallop shells?: I soak them in hot soapy water, then let them air dry. Or, honestly, I buy the disposable ones form [this shop I like](https://www.lakeland.co.uk/) when I’m too tired to scrub.
What wine goes best with this?: Any crisp white—sauvignon blanc or pinot grigio, easy peasy. And here’s a neat little guide I use: WineMag’s pairing tips.
How do you make it gluten free?: Swap the flour for cornstarch or rice flour. I’ve tried it—works like a charm, except the sauce is a touch less glossy.

Oh, slight digression—if you ever find yourself with leftover sauce, pour it over pasta with peas for a leftover lunch. It’s a revelation. If you make this, let me know! Or send me your kitchen disaster photos (they’re funnier than you think). For other classic French ideas, I occasionally check Saveur’s French recipes lineup—good procrastination on a rainy day.

JB’s Coquilles Saint-Jacques: A Cozy Take on the French Classic