Salt, pepper, garlic, and the discipline to leave the fish alone.
This is the supper I make when I don't feel like making supper. Salt, pepper, garlic — nothing you don't already have — and fifteen minutes from cold pan to table. The whole recipe is really one instruction wearing different clothes: leave the fish alone. Dry it well, lay it in the hot oil, and then keep your hands off. It will stick, and then, when the crust is ready, it will let go. The fish decides, not you.
The garlic butter at the end is the part that makes it feel like more than it was. Butter, smashed cloves, a few sprigs of thyme, tipped and spooned over the fish until the kitchen smells like a restaurant. Nobody needs to know it took three minutes.
The fish
The garlic butter
Garlic powder in the seasoning, fresh garlic in the butter. Fresh cloves burn during a hard sear and turn bitter — the powder carries the crust, and the smashed cloves perfume the baste.
If your fillets are skin-on, start skin-side down instead and give it an extra minute — the skin crisps into the best part.
The supper, complete: serve it beside No. III, the Italian Antipasto Pasta Salad, and there is nothing left to decide.
"The fish tells you when it's ready — it stops holding onto the pan. Most of cooking is learning to wait for that."