photo by Antoinne von Rimes

Halibut, I love Halibut so much that I eat it three to four days a week when it’s in season, and thank God it is back in season now. Halibut season runs from March until the middle of November.  The span in-between I call hell because I am deprived of the luscious white, sweet, meaty treat called halibut.

I live in San Francisco and people here go on and on about salmon and Dungeness crab, ad infinitum…ho-freaking-hum.  There is no salmon dish baked, roasted, steamed or raw that can come close to a basket of properly beer battered, deep fried, halibut.

The crisp, crunchy, golden brown exterior and the steaming hot tender fish inside is food porn to me.  I want to close the blinds, conceal myself from prying eyes while I give myself over to this unmatched sin.

A drop of lemon or lime juice with the first bite, and then a dollop of my homemade tartar sauce with the second, and I’m half way to being spent.  My deep fried Halibut is crisp and golden brown on the outside with white, nearly, luminescent flesh, shrouded in a mist of escaping steam on the inside.

My mouth knows it will be tender and sweet. It seduces me to take a bite. I bite, munch, and gorge.  Before I know it, I end the evening sprawled on my couch, flakes of fried batter clinging to my face.  A sudden rush of guilt washes over me…shame not too far behind.  I pick myself up and tell myself I will have more self control next time…tomorrow