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Plaice dusted in flour and fried in foaming butter until the edges go golden and the kitchen smells of something worth sitting down for, finished with lemon and not much else.
The fishmonger had plaice on Saturday. Flat, slippery, unremarkable-looking things, but the eyes were clear and the flesh was firm when I pressed it, and that's all you need to know. Spring plaice is a different creature from the wan fillets you get in winter. The flesh is sweet, the texture holds, and it takes to a hot pan and butter the way a cat takes to a warm windowsill.
This is a ten-minute supper. Flour, butter, lemon, a hot pan, and your full attention for the time it takes. That's the deal. The fish doesn't ask much of you, but it asks that you don't wander off and check your phone while it's cooking. Stand at the stove. Watch the butter foam. Listen to the edges crisp. This is cooking at its most immediate and there's a pleasure in it that slower dishes can't quite match.
I wrote it down in the notebook years ago: plaice, brown butter, lemon, Tuesday, the kitchen window open. I've cooked it dozens of times since and the note still holds. There are few better feelings than putting a warm plate of fish in front of someone on a weeknight and watching them reach for the lemon. We're only making dinner. But sometimes dinner is the best part of the day.
Quantity
2 whole or 4 fillets
trimmed and cleaned, patted dry
Quantity
2-3 tablespoons
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
50g
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1
Quantity
small handful
roughly chopped
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| whole plaice or filletstrimmed and cleaned, patted dry | 2 whole or 4 fillets |
| plain flour | 2-3 tablespoons |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
| unsalted butter | 50g |
| light olive oil or groundnut oil | 1 tablespoon |
| lemon | 1 |
| flat-leaf parsley (optional)roughly chopped | small handful |
Lay the plaice on a board and pat it properly dry with kitchen paper. Both sides. This matters. Wet fish won't crisp; it will steam and stick and you'll lose the skin. Season the flour with salt and pepper on a wide plate, then lay each fish or fillet in it, pressing gently to coat, and shake off the excess. You want a whisper of flour, not a crust. Just enough to give the butter something to cling to.
Set your widest heavy pan over a medium-high heat. Add the oil and half the butter. Wait. The butter will melt, then foam, then the foam will start to calm. That calm moment, when the bubbling settles and the butter smells warm and faintly nutty, is when the fish goes in. Not before. A pan that isn't ready will give you something pale and limp, and life is too short for pale and limp fish.
Lay the fish in the pan, presentation side down. If it's a whole fish, that's the darker side. If fillets, skin side down. Don't crowd the pan. If they don't all fit comfortably, cook in batches. Let them be. No prodding, no peeking, no anxious spatula work. Three to four minutes for fillets, a little longer for whole fish. You'll know it's time to turn when the edges go golden and the flesh has turned opaque about two-thirds of the way up. Flip once. Just once. Another two to three minutes on the other side. The flesh should be white and firm but still yielding, not dry, not chalky.
Lift the fish out onto warm plates. Keep the pan on the heat. Add the remaining butter and let it foam. When it starts to colour, a proper golden brown that smells of hazelnuts, squeeze in the juice of half the lemon. It will hiss and spit. Swirl the pan. The butter and lemon will come together into a glossy, sharp sauce in seconds. Spoon it over the fish immediately. Scatter the parsley if you have it. Cut the remaining lemon into wedges and put them on the plate. Dinner is ready.
1 serving (about 200g)
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