Fletán

Basted, not fried. The fat is the only insurance against dryness.

Spring for spring, and the mushroom is the only loud thing there.

Sweet dense flesh flattens fast. Acid keeps the edges lit.

Nutty milk solids fill in for the fat the fillet does not have.

Both sweet, both spring. Neither needs dressing up.

Green bitterness under a fish that runs sweet and clean.

The poaching liquid reduces into a sauce with nothing added.

Oak and lees echo the butter instead of fighting it.

Brine spikes through a fillet with no salt note of its own.

A crust of it steams the top while the pan sears the bottom.

Dense flesh holds the aroma; nothing in the fish competes.

Ground to a crust, pyrazines make a plain fish taste roasted.

Grassy bitterness where herbs go. The fish is clean enough to show it.