Pan-Fried Plaice with Lemon and Butter

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.