Halibut with French Herbs

Tarragon, it turns out, is a game changer. Apparently you can chop it up with some parsley and chives and use it to make light-yet-buttery, simple-yet-flavorful, swooningly delicious french fare. Who knew? (Probably the French. But I didn't. You would think, in a fair world, that some people would get life-altering croissants and others would get tarragon, but no, the French got both. Until now. Or maybe it was years ago, when non-French people noticed tarragon but didn't tell me. Regardless, if you need me, I'll be over here, gazing adoringly at my new leafy green obsession.)

Ingredients

½ - ¾ lbs wild halibut (enough for two)

Kosher salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Stone ground whole wheat flour

2 tbsp Meyer lemon juice

1 tsp olive oil

1 tbsp white wine

1 ½ tbsp butter

1 tbsp capers, rinsed and drained

1 tbsp coarsely chopped fresh tarragon

2 tbsp chopped chives

2 tbsp chopped flat leaf parsley

(Goes well over black Forbidden rice—sauté a little chopped shallot until soft, then add the rice and water and cook according to package directions.)

Sprinkle the halibut on both sides with kosher salt and a little freshly ground black pepper, then lightly flour on both sides. Combine the lemon juice, olive oil, and white wine in a small dish.

Heat a nonstick or ceramic pan over medium heat. Drizzle lightly with olive oil, then add the fish to the pan and fry for a few minutes on each side, until just before the inside is cooked through (I always cut into the middle after it's lightly browned on both sides to get a sense of how much longer it has to cook...nobody will ever know if you serve it with the cut face down or with sauce over the top.) 

When the fish is almost but not quite cooked through, serve immediately over rice (it will keep cooking on the plate from the heat of the rice).

Immediately after serving the fish, replace the pan over medium-low heat. Add the butter, let it melt, then add the lemon-wine mixture. Wait 10 seconds for the alcohol to steam off, then add the capers and a pinch of salt, and turn off the heat. Add the herbs, stir a couple times, then spoon over the fish.

Serve immediately.

Serves 2. Pairs very well with sautéed leeks and baby kale and a French white.

The First Priority Herb Garden

One of our first priorities, upon settling into our new apartment, was to plant an herb garden.

Obviously, different people have different priorities when 75% of them move cross-country (or mid-country) with only 5% of their belongings. Some might think first of indoor furniture, like, say, a couch or a bed. Others might instantly shop for appliances and electronics, already missing their toaster and their television.

 

I'm not saying we don't have a toaster. I'm just noting that the first furniture we acquired may have been a pair of bright teal balcony chairs on which to sit while eating dinner, and that a balcony herb garden may have been at the top of the first page of our shopping list. And that technically, we don't yet have a couch.

Now, to plant an herb garden, one needs a few essentials. For example, herbs. Fortunately, with Family Tree Nursery only minutes away, we had easy access to Essential Herb Garden Ingredient #1. The problem came when we had to select which herbs we wanted. Because unlike our local nursery back in sleepytown California, which might carry four or five different types of basil and two different kinds of oregano—a selection that used to seem pretty fancy to us—Family Tree Nursery takes its herbs Seriously with a capital S.

There were, to be specific, eleven varieties of basil. If you wanted Thai basil in particular, you still had three options. There were at least eight types of rosemary, complete with notes on flavor profiles and optimal growing conditions. There was a full buffet of sages, oreganos, and thymes, and side tables full of mint, lavender, dill, tarragon, parsley, and lemon verbena. There were, in other words, choices to be made.

The reason that we had to make choices was because our careful calculations revealed that technically speaking, the entire variety of herbs would not fit into the interior dimensions of our car without violating some basic laws of physics and geometry. Also, we had just the one planter on just the one balcony, although if our car had been bigger, I'm not sure this would have stopped us (the neighbors don't seem to be using their balcony, after all, so surely they wouldn't mind if we climbed on over there and planted a flag...and thirty-five different herbs...on behalf of our expanding culinary kingdom).

But, because the husband irrationally refused to consider my entirely reasonable suggestion trade in our small hatchback for a nice, roomy SUV-herbobile, we had to carefully whittle down our selection to a mere eleven plants (including only three varieties of basil). I can only hope that we do not spend the next year regretting the glaring absence of Thai Siam queen basil and Tuscan blue rosemary from our lives, since all we have now is African blue basil, Thai magic basil, bush basil, and Lockwood de Forest rosemary (not to mention French thyme, flat leaf parsley, variegated oregano, garden sage, and some calibrachoa for color. Oh, and a fuchsia, just because).

Thusly and herbilly endowed, we made our way homewards, where we already had our planter and potting soil waiting for us (for any fellow aspiring balcony farmers out there, you may want to consider a self-watering planter, like the ones you can find here, which save you from having to douse your planters daily by continuously moistening the soil from a reservoir you refill once a week or so). Whereupon we planted ourselves a balcony herb garden.

Plus an auxilliary herb pot. Just in case.