Mediterranean Sole

February. Valentine's Day approaching. Six years since Earl died in his recliner on February 14, 2019, watching the evening news while I made his dinner. Six years since the TV went silent and I knew before I walked into the living room. Six years since I became a woman who sets an extra place at every meal and talks to a chair.

The grief has changed again. It changes every year, the way the garden changes — same roots, different blooms. The first year was drowning. The second year was treading water. The third year was swimming toward something I couldn't see. Now, in year six, the grief is a companion. It walks beside me. It sits at the table. It doesn't overwhelm anymore — it accompanies. It says, "Remember him," and I say, "I always do," and we go about our day, the grief and I, two old women sharing a house and a history and a cast iron skillet that still has his handprint in the seasoning.

I went to Bonaventure Cemetery on the fourteenth. Sunflowers again — Denise brought them, the yellow ones that look like they're made of sunshine and optimism, which is an absurd flower to bring to a cemetery and exactly the right flower because Earl was sunshine and optimism in a quiet man's body. I sat on the bench by his stone and I told him about Nola. About the knee. About Monique's wedding. About the peach cobbler beating Gladys again. I told him things he already knows, because the dead know everything or nothing, and I prefer to believe in everything.

"Six years, Earl," I said. "Six years and I'm still here. Still cooking. Still setting your place. Still making that coconut cake at Christmas because you loved it and the table needs it and I need to believe you can taste it from wherever you are." The wind blew. An egret landed on the pond. The Spanish moss swayed. I chose to hear an answer in the silence. I will always choose to hear an answer.

Made catfish tonight. The Valentine's dinner. Not a romantic dinner — a memorial dinner. Catfish fried in cornmeal in the cast iron, with coleslaw and hushpuppies. The meal I made Earl on our first Valentine's Day as a married couple, 1977, in the apartment near Forsyth Park, when we had no money and I had a catfish that someone gave us from the river and a bag of cornmeal from Hattie Pearl's pantry. Forty-eight years ago. The catfish was the same. The woman cooking it was different. But the love — the love was the same. It is always the same.

Now go on and feed somebody.

The catfish I made Earl that first Valentine’s Day in 1977 was river fish fried in cornmeal — humble and honest, which is what love is when it’s real. This Mediterranean sole carries that same spirit: a simple fish, a hot pan, a handful of pantry ingredients that somehow add up to something that tastes like warmth. It’s what I reach for when I need to feed myself something wholesome without fuss, on the nights when cooking is both the hardest and the most necessary thing I can do. Set the table for everyone who matters, seen and unseen, and cook something good.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 sole fillets (about 5–6 oz each), patted dry
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/2 cup pitted Kalamata olives, roughly chopped
1/4 cup dry white wine or low-sodium chicken broth
2 tablespoons capers, drained
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
Lemon wedges, for serving

Instructions

Season the fish. Pat sole fillets dry with paper towels and season both sides evenly with salt, pepper, and smoked paprika. Set aside while you prepare the pan.
Build the sauce base. Heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a large skillet (cast iron works beautifully here) over medium heat. Add the sliced garlic and cook, stirring, for about 1 minute until fragrant and just golden at the edges — do not let it brown.
Add the tomatoes and olives. Stir in the cherry tomatoes, olives, and capers. Cook for 3–4 minutes, pressing the tomatoes gently with the back of a spoon until they begin to soften and release their juices.
Deglaze and simmer. Pour in the white wine (or broth) and lemon juice. Let the sauce simmer for 2 minutes until slightly reduced. Taste and adjust seasoning if needed.
Sear the sole. Push the tomato mixture to the edges of the skillet. Add the remaining tablespoon of olive oil to the center and raise the heat to medium-high. Lay the sole fillets in the pan. Cook for 2–3 minutes per side, spooning the pan sauce over the fish as it cooks, until the fish is opaque and flakes easily with a fork.
Finish and serve. Spoon the Mediterranean sauce over and around the fillets. Scatter the fresh parsley on top. Serve immediately with lemon wedges alongside crusty bread, rice, or simply as it is.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mediterranean Sole — A Simple Fish Supper, Seasoned with Memory