The Secret Language of Fish, Volume 3

"Good Enough for Jehovah"

The line is from a Monty Python movie. If you recognize the reference, you already know that this entry is about halibut. The halibut in that particular Python joke was essential to the story line only in that it has a funny name and, in first-century A.D. Judea, was something of an anachronism.

If you're confused, consider that it could be worse: I could have titled this "Just for—" but let's not go there.

Halibut is the largest and sturdiest of the flat fishes. You probably don't care about the shape unless you are a fishmonger or you plan to go fishing off the coast of Canada. For most cooks, halibut is comes in two forms: thick filets (roughly 1 to 2.5 inches) and steaks. Both are usually sold with the skin on (dark grey if it's a topside fillet, white if it's from the bottom). The steaks contain stout bones.

Because it lives in more northerly climes than flounder, turbot, and sole, halibut contains a bit more fat than the others. Though the difference in fat might seem negligible (0.8 grams of fat per ounce of halibut vice 0.4 grams per ounce for flounder), it is enough to allow you to grill the halibut. That trick never works for flounder, sole, or turbot, which just sort of plate out on the hot metal.

Halibut is generally described as mild, flaky, sweet, and delicate. Some cooks claim it has little or no flavor of its own. Both of these claims are about half right. Halibut, like turkey and peanuts, is high in tryptophan. Pure L-tryptophan tastes something like quinine; pure D-tryptophan tastes sweet and a tiny bit like bananas. This balance of bitter and sweet is probably why halibut matches so well with mild sweet flavors. A tiny bit of fruity sweetness heightens the sweetness of D-tryptophan and masks the bitterness of the L-tryptophan.

As sashimi, sushi, or a tartare, I find the sweetness is best heightened with a bit of citrus. The Japanese apparently agree and traditionally match hirame sashami with yuzu-based sauces. I attempted a halibut tartare flavored with orange zest, but the zest proved too bitter. A second attempt sweetened with a splash of tangerine juice worked much better.

I prefer berries and pome fruits with cooked halibut, though. I have had some luck, for example, combining seared halibut with a blackberry-wasabi sauce and steamed halibut with strawberry butter.

A few nights ago, inspired by a local restaurant's offering that I thought I could "fix," I tried a savory halibut preparation. I made a bouillabaise-inspired sauce, fortified with roughly chopped rock shrimp, and I dusted the broiled fish with a hazelnut/green-peppercorn topping. I was not satisfied with the results. I was hoping the sweetness of the hazelnuts and of the rock shrimp would enhance that of the halibut. The components all came out fine, but they did not play well together. The hazelnuts worked well, but in every bite of halibut that contained a bite of rock shrimp, the flavor of the halibut disappeared. Also, the slightly piney taste of the green peppercorns proved a bit too assertive in places.

Fortunately, my fragile ego was saved by last night's efforts. I'd been thinking about combining a different set of sweet and fruity flavors in support of halibut, and it all came out exactly as I'd hoped it would. It even looked right. I'll have to do it again soon, just to get a photo of it.

Seared halibut poached in perry served over lemon-pepper rice

These quantities serve two.

dramatis personae

24 ounces (two bottles) perry
one pound halibut fillet, skin on
one teaspoon peanut oil
two tablespoons tarragon chiffonade
two tablespoons butter
one tablespoon dijon mustard
one hosui or other asian pear

one half cup basmati rice
one cup water or chicken broth
a splash of sesame oil
zest of one medium lemon
a pinch of course ground black pepper
a pinch of sea salt

selection of ingredients

I've previously harped on the importance of fresh seafood, and I'm still right. Frozen fish sucks. You may as well use cotton batting as some of that crap they sell at the fish counters in most supermarkets. If you don't have a decent fishmonger in your area, do yourself a favor: have chicken for dinner tonight. The halibut should be solid, moist, and shiny. The flesh begins to gap and lose its sheen as it dries out. The skin (regardless whether it's grey or white) should be free of blemishes. If it smells fishy, you don't want it.

Perry is a cider-like fermentation of pear juice traditionally made with pears that are too bitter and sharp tasting to eat. Generally, dessert pears are said to result in an insipid perry. Although still produced by several commercial brewers in the UK, you won't find perry in most grocery or liquor stores in the US. I bought mine in an upscale grocery store (Central Market in Austin, Texas). You might find perry in stores specializing in fine beer and wine imports. I also know a few home brewers who make perry.

If you can't find perry, hard apple cider should work. In either case, you want the driest perry or cider you can find. My market had two perries; one with 18 grams of sugar per twelve-ounce bottle and one with 9 grams of sugar per twelve-ounce bottle. I chose the less sweet. You can always add fruit juice or sugar if you decide the cider is too bitter. If the stuff starts out too sugary, you're screwed (and not in a good way).

Use fresh tarragon. The dried stuff tastes like tobacco soaked in anisette—bleah.

I chose basmati rice in this case because its firm texture and a nutty flavor play well with fish.

preparation notes

In a small sauce pan over medium-high heat, reduce the perry by half. This takes about fifteen or twenty minutes.

The rice is pretty easy. Combine the rice, broth (or water), and sesame oil and prepare the rice however you normally prepare rice (stovetop, rice cooker, microwave). Blend the lemon zest, salt, and pepper using a mortar and pestle to crush them into a fairly uniform lemon-pepper paste. Once the rice is done, stir in the lemon-pepper.

Slice the fillet in half.

Once the perry is nearly reduced, heat the teaspoon of peanut oil in a non-stick skillet over a high flame until the oil begins to shimmer. Spread the oil over the bottom of the pan (it doesn't have to cover completely), and place the halibut fillets in the pan skin side up. Leave them alone for two full minutes.

Gently turn the fillets over. The cooked side should be golden brown. Allow the fillets to cook for another two minutes on high heat (this breaks down and frees up some of the gelatin in the skins, which you want for the sauce you're going to make).

Pour the hot perry over the fillets. Cover the fillets, and reduce the flame to medium high. Let the fillets poach for five minutes (or until done—remember, these instructions are for two-inch-thick fillets). When the fillets are done (if you're not certain, use a paring knife to separate the flakes at the center of one fillet; they should be opaque but not dried out) carefully remove them from the liquid to a covered dish. Gently. The seared surface will help keep them whole, but the fillets are fragile.

Continue to simmer the poaching liquid, stirring frequently, until it is nearly gone. Stir in the mustard to thicken the liquid. Reduce the heat to low and mount the sauce with the butter. Stir in the tarragon and remove the sauce from the heat.

Serve each fillet over a mound of lemon-pepper rice with just enough of the sauce to cover the fillet. Garnish with a few thin slices of asian pear. We enjoyed our halibut with a side of haricot verts sautéed in extra-virgin olive oil with cremini mushrooms, but any savory green vegetable should work.