First fish dish: Halibut and Parsley-Lemon Sauce

I did it. I cooked a fish! And I ate it! My roommate ate it too and we're both still alive today to talk about it, right Nichole? ...Nichole?

It was, without a doubt, the best fish I ever cooked and ate.

I consider it one of the greatest achievements of my cooking career. The last time I brought a fish home it was alive - and it stayed that way for weeks until it went belly-up in the bowl I kept on my dresser. I didn't eat it. I flushed it down the toilet. That's what one does with fish, no?

Clearly this fish-cooking expedition has been a long time coming. I've avoided fresh catches and fish tacos for too long. I'm tired of this life of chowder-dodging and lobster-evading. It's time to take the fish by the fins. I mean, this is Maine for carp's sake.

So I boldly bought fish for the first time yesterday, with help from the folks at Browne Trading Market in Portland. I went with the halibut, and did not restrain myself from saying, "Just for the halibut," which apparently everybody says.

At home in my kitchen, I unwrapped the halibut. I gave it a once-over - a few times. The halibut scanned my kitchen, wary at first, but managed to relax after spotting the jar of Seven Seas Seasoning. If it was going to get eaten, at least it was getting a sweet rub down first.

The halibut got its rub down. And some green beans got tossed with olive oil, salt and pepper. If only I'd known sooner that with a little bit of olive oil, salt and pepper, you can roast just about anything. And it will be awesome. I threw in some yellow wax beans, too, because I've always thought they were funny looking. And I'm into that.

And just in case the fish goes south, at least there would be potatoes, also tossed with olive oil, salt and pepper.

I found a Parsley-Lemon Sauce recipe on foodandwine.com that I readied, also in case the whole fish thing didn't work out. Sauce covers up all sorts of sins. It's like the food version of Spanx.

I heated grapeseed oil in a pan on medium-high heat. I put the halibut steaks in one at a time, cooking them for two and a half minutes on each side. I accidentally broke one in half in the excitement.

But I stuck to the suggested timing. And right as I worried that I was under-cooking them, I stopped cooking them (more advice from Browne Trading). I pressed the fish with a finger and could see it begin to flake, as fish apparently does when it's cooked (and now I finally get what the term "flaking" actually means."

The fish: perfectly cooked! The sauce: excellent! The roommate: pleased with her free meal! And me: plump with fish-cooking pride. And potatoes. I was also plump with potatoes.

I ate more fish in one sitting than I likely have during the past 33 years combined. I ate it because it was really good, sure, but it was really good because I cooked it myself. A sense of accomplishment makes a savory seasoning.

And, as my roommate said, "We had a halibut time."

Bringing home the halibut (ah! First-time fish buyer!)

Holy halibut. I just bought fish.

Perhaps that's not earth-shattering news to you - someone who probably eats fish and knows how to cook it - but for me, today was a life-changer.

With help from Chris at Browne Trading Market on Commercial Street in Portland, I decided to buy halibut. Chris recommended it for multiple reasons (The season's short, he said, so take advantage. And Halibut isn't as oily as, say, salmon, and a higher oil content is what gives fish that "fishy" taste), and when you don't know what you're doing, it's typically wise to take advice. At least that's what I've heard.

So, having zero fish expertise from which to draw, I took Chris' advice. Halibut it is.

Chris removed the skin (halibut skin is thicker than other fish, so people don't tend to eat it, he said) and cut it into portions.

I picked out a seasoning, too: Seven Seas Seasoning from spice merchants Gryffon Ridge in Dresden, Maine.

And while Chris wrapped the fish (and I played it cool while chanting, "I'm buying fish! I'm buying fish! in my head) he passed on a few words of cooking wisdom: When cooking halibut in a pan, cook on med-high heat. Use grapeseed oil if you've got it (oddly, I do) because of its high smoke point. Two and a half minutes on each side should do it. People tend to overcook halibut, he said, so right when you start worrying that you might undercook it - stop cooking it.

Halibut takes on whatever flavors you cook with it so there's no end to the options.

So yes, I just bought a piece of fish. No big deal. Except I've never brought home a fish before, which means this must be serious.

EASY RECIPE: Uncomplicated Cranberry Couscous

Couscous now fills the warm place in my lazy-cook's heart that use to be filled will cereal and deli ham.

The stuff is just so darn easy and expeditious. If couscous were a person, it'd be someone you invited over all the time because it would make dinner for you, then rub your feet while you eat and repeatedly tell you how good looking you are.

It's hard not to like a food like that.

But the stuff cooks up in a jiff and makes friends with just about anything you can think to toss into it. It's become my go-to food on those night when sluggishness reigns, but a burgeoning personal shame won't allow me to gnaw on raw pasta for dinner. At least not as often.

Here's the simple recipe I've been following for a cranberry and herb couscous that tastes splendid, looks smashing and won't give you a hard time on the stove:

Cranberry Couscous
Half a shallot, chopped
1 cup Israeli couscous (aka pearl couscous)
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons low-sodium chicken broth
1/4 cup parsley
1/4 cranberries
salt

Heat the olive oil in a pan on medium-high heat. Add shallots and saute for 1-2 min. Add couscous, stirring occasionally until it begins to brown. Add broth, then salt and cranberries. Bring to a boil. Put a lid on it, shut of the heat and let 'er sit for five minutes. Seriously, leave it alone. Don't keep lifting the lid to have a look-see. Back off, give it some space. Trust in the couscous.

After five minutes, toss in the parsley and fluff it all with a fork. Ta da.

There are loads of couscous recipes out there. And different kinds of couscous, like the smaller Moroccan kind. But whatever else goes in it, one thing I've learned makes all the difference: use broth instead of water.

Also, don't knock over a measuring cup filled with dried couscous. Just don't. Those granules of semolina will duck into the corners of the kitchen floor, emerging days or weeks later just to stick to your feet or scamper nosily across the hardwood before diving back into the shadows. So like I said, just try not to spill it.