Eastside Road, February 6, 2011—WE USUALLY TRY TO REMEMBER to buy fish when we're down in Berkeley; Monterey Fish is so dependable. Today we had sole meuniere, the simplest possible thing: you dredge the fillets in a little flour, salt and pepper them, then fry them in butter with a little lemon juice squoze in. In fact it should be a proper
beurre noir, but no one's looking over our shoulders here.
With them, some nice chard from the garden — a curious paesano variety of chard whose name I disremember. In fact I disremembered the chard itself; it's been thriving away, a fine thickly-leaved plant feeding any number of leaf miners and quail; but it's generous enough to give us a few leaves when we think of them.
Before dinner, L. eyed me and said I think you should cook that goose liver now. Right now, I asked. Right now, she said. So I put a piece of butter in my favorite little enameled skillet, darkened it up, and threw in the liver, salting and peppering it; turned it once, turned it again, splashed in some brandy, and soaked up the remains of the butter on a slice of bread. Delicious! Green salad, of course.
Cheap Pinot grigio