Alright folks, let me tell you about my disaster-turned-victory trying to nail proper French fish. Always thought cooking fish was boring till I tasted bouillabaisse in Marseille last year – that stuff slapped my taste buds awake.
Getting My Ducks in a Row
First mission: finding real French butter. My local store only had that salty American stuff. Drove 20 dang miles to a specialty shop for that pale Normandy butter. Grabbed turbot too – wild expensive but authentic. Got leeks, shallots, and like a gallon of white wine. Forgot thyme though, ran back halfway through prep.
Frenching the Fish
Started by hacking the turbot into chunks. Fish eyeballs stared at me – gross but French chefs don’t waste anything. Seared skin-down in butter till crispy. Smelled fishy at first but that nutty butter scent saved it. Fried garlic slices golden while praying not to burn em.
The Sauce Saga
Deglazed pan with white wine – went heavy handed. Wifey walked in coughing “smells like a vineyard exploded!” Sauteed leeks forever till translucent. Made fish stock by boiling bones (yes, eyeballs included) with carrots. Simmered broth four hours watching Netflix. Almost overflowed twice. Reduced stock by half – kitchen looked like a crime scene.
Plating Mishaps
Planned elegant plating until spoon slipped. Dropped fish chunk on dog. Made garlic mayo from scratch – whisked till arm cramped. Toasted baguette slices that turned into charcoal soldiers first batch. Still tasted bomb dunked in sauce. Final product looked messy but tasted legit French.
Lessons learned:
- Don’t wear white shirts when boiling fish stock
- French cooking = butter + patience + wine
- Dog loves haute cuisine accidents
Whole ordeal took nine hours but worth every buttery second. Got that fancy-restaurant depth without leaving my smoke-filled kitchen. Trying sole meunière next week – already stocked up on fire extinguishers.
