Milling about

I have great affection for what I think of as bistro styles of food, though this could be a category that exists only in my mind. They are prepared either ages in advance (boeuf bourguignon, lamb shanks, duck confit) or in a very small amount of time just before you want to eat (salad with a poached egg; steak; mussels). Both options are ideal for entertaining.

For large groups of people, I like Option I. People think boeuf bourguignon is impressive, and you had three hours to comb your hair and wash some lettuce leaves while the thing was braising. It’s the greatest cheat. But I don’t entertain large groups of people very often. My dining table seats four, and I like it that way. I cook for one or two or three other people with more regularity. In these cases, Option II is pretty grand, and my favorite of this subcategory in my mind is probably sole meunière.

Anything cooked à la meunière makes use of flour. The term means nothing more than that. A meunier is a miller, and the meunière is his wife, though I suppose that in these modern times, she could also be the lady miller. Either way, she is clever enough to use leftovers from work to make what would otherwise be a piddling supper of dinky flatfish fillets into something more substantial, with more color, textural contrast, and pleasure involved. He might not be so wise, but that’s not our problem.

A dear friend told me not too long ago that sole meunière could be difficult to get right. Bits of flour could burn, your fish might not cook evenly, and oh, it can just be so complicated, he said. I have no natural talent for cooking, but I think that difficulty might exist only in his mind. If you shake the flour off well, there shouldn’t be any burning, and if your pan heats unevenly, put the smaller sides of the fish on the cooler bits of the pan. The only other thing I can think would go wrong would be in the shopping. As with most things that require few ingredients, quality of those you do use should be the highest for which you’re willing to pay. If you can find it, Échiré or some other high fat, cultured butter would be particularly good. And the better your ingredients, the less you will need of them to be satisfied with your meal, so if you were thinking about it, please don’t be squeamish about ‘high fat.’ And don’t get too caught up thinking about the type of fish you want to buy. Find a fishmonger who looks like he knows what he (or she!) is doing, and ask what’s good.

All of that said, I do think there is one difficult step involved here, which is spooning the flour from its bag to a plate without too much mess.  (I always fail. To the fellow clumsy: White is the new black for this.)

Fluke meunière, beurre noisette, câpres

By all means, use any kind of fish you like here, but the fillets should be quite thin, and the flavor should be delicate. Sole is the classic. My fishmonger had told me fluke was good that day, so that is what I bought. Turbot or flounder would be nice, too. I specify white pepper below because it is the traditional way of doing these things. As the photo above demonstrates, however, I don’t have white pepper at the moment, used black pepper instead, and am none too miffed about it. Neither was my fish, my belly, or my single other guest.

Fillets of fish, approximately 1/3 pound per person  |  flour  |  salt and freshly ground white pepper  |  about 1 tbsp very good unsalted butter per person + more for cooking  |  1 lemon  |  lots of capers, a small palmful per person, rinsed  |  parsley

Clean the fish as necessary. The fishmonger should have done most everything for you, but do run your fingertips over the fish to check for pin bones. I hate to say this, but these are best removed with tweezers.

Spoon the flour onto a plate. You won’t need much, perhaps 1 heaping tablespoon if you’re just serving a few other people. Season the flour with salt and pepper. Swish around a bit to distribute.

In a small saucepan over medium low heat, heat the butter. It will melt; it will foam; that will subside, and then it will start to brown. The ideal is a hazelnut color. When it looks and smells nutty, remove from heat.  This will take 3-5 minutes. (If you burn the butter, keep in mind that black butter—call it beurre noir if it makes you feel better—is a legitimate preparation, and serve it forth.) After it has cooled a bit, add lemon juice to taste and swirl in the capers. You don’t have to use as many as I do.

Heat a nonstick frying pan over medium high heat. Add enough butter so that it will coat the bottom of the pan comfortably. After the butter stops foaming, dredge the fish on both sides in the seasoned flour, shaking off the excess, and toss into the frying pan. The fish should sizzle happily. Don’t move it for at least a minute, and when you flip the fish, do so carefully. Sole will cook in about 3 minutes total. So did my fluke. Cook the first side for about 2 minutes, and the second for about 1.

Slide carefully onto a plate. The first side on which you browned the fish will likely be the nicer shade of brown, so serve with that side up. Pour over the brown butter and capers. Garnish with wedges of lemon and some parsley, if you like.