How This Recipe Came to Be

Some recipes arrive quietly not planned or tested in a big kitchen, but dreamed up in motion. Born out of what you have and what you crave.

This one came to me somewhere between Austin and home. I had made a batch of Smoked Butter Beans, an Ottolenghi-inspired recipe that had been the hit of a recent get-together. They’re wonderful on a relish tray — smoky, silky, and just the right amount of heat.

When I arrived in Austin after a trip home to South Dakota, I stopped at the market craving fish, Dover Sole, specifically. But as luck (and grocery stores) would have it, they were out. I looked at the halibut and thought, what the heck.

On the drive home, I started building the dish in my head — a habit of anyone who’s cooked for as long as I have. I knew I had some prosciutto in the fridge, but that idea didn’t excite me. Then I remembered those smoky butter beans and started imagining how to marry those flavors.

When I pulled into the garage, I noticed my husband had moved my basil plant inside to protect it from an impending freeze. Seeing it sparked an idea: pistou — that beautiful French cousin of pesto, made simply with basil, garlic, Parmesan and olive oil (no nuts). I could already taste how its brightness would cut through the richness of the beans and fish.

Originally, I planned to roast the halibut, but as I opened the fridge and saw all that golden oil from the beans, a thought struck: Could I confit the halibut?

So I gave it a whirl.

The result? A dish that felt both comforting and luxurious — tender halibut infused with flavor, nestled into smoky butter beans, and finished with a bright spoonful of pistou. My husband and I both fell in love with it on that chilly night — one pan, one meal, and a happy accident that turned into something truly special.

A Little Culinary Context

Confit (pronounced con-FEE) comes from the French word confire, meaning “to preserve.” Traditionally, it’s a slow-cooking method in which an ingredient — often duck, garlic, or even tomatoes — is gently cooked in fat or oil until silky and tender. In this case, the halibut cooks slowly in the fragrant oil from the beans, giving it a melt-in-your-mouth texture that feels indulgent but not heavy.

Pistou (pronounced pee-STOO) is Provence’s answer to pesto — simpler, lighter, and all about the purity of basil. It’s made with fresh basil, garlic, olive oil, and salt. Sometimes there is cheese, I went for Parmesan. No nuts. Just a burst of herbaceous brightness that wakes up the plate.

Serving Notes

This dish truly is a one-dish wonder — cozy enough for a quiet night at home, elegant enough for a dinner party. Serve it with a glass of Texas Viognier or crisp sparkling wine, a hunk of warm bread, and someone you love sitting across from you.

It’s proof that the best recipes don’t always start with a plan. Sometimes, they start with a craving, a basil plant in the garage, and a little willingness to say, what the heck.

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With grace, grit & gratitude,

xx, JeriLynne