Many years ago, when my husband and I visited my parents in Hong Kong, we had lunch at a nondescript Japanese restaurant located in the basement of a mall. My husband was skeptical, but I had eaten there before and knew the food was good. We were there for one thing and one thing only: the miso black cod. Marinated in a salty-sweet mixture of white miso, sake, mirin, and soy sauce, the broiled fish arrived glistening and tender, its flesh flaking away easily with the gentlest prod of our chopsticks. Each bite was deeply savory, with nuttiness from the miso and a floral sweetness from the sake and mirin. 

When I came back to New York, I tried to recreate the dish and found numerous iterations of it on the internet. I wasn’t surprised: Miso black cod exploded in popularity after the Japanese chef Nobu Matsuhisa served it at his Tribeca restaurant in the 1990s. “The soy-slicked fish was a must-order, called out even in the restaurant’s earliest reviews,” the writer Hugh Merwin noted in New York Magazine in 2014. “A kind of fame ensued, and today, black cod with miso is essentially shorthand for the Nobu empire itself.”

Although Matsuhisa did not invent the dish—he tells Merwin that his preparation is a riff on a Japanese tradition of curing fish in sake lees—he popularized it among both restaurant aficionados and home cooks. Luckily, the dish is deceptively easy to make. So simple, in fact, that my husband and I make it regularly: All you have to do is whisk together a marinade of red or white miso paste, sake, mirin, soy sauce, oil, and sugar, then marinate the fish. You can marinate the fish for as little as 30 minutes or as long as two days, making it a great make-ahead weeknight meal or dinner party main.

A note on the fish: Despite its name, black cod isn’t true cod, but a different species entirely—more accurately known as sablefish. Its flesh is tender and buttery, unlike the lean, firm texture of Atlantic or Pacific cod. That richness is key to this recipe’s success. While you can try other fish, it’s best with something fatty, like black cod—or, more accessibly, salmon. 

Former Serious Eats editor Kenji’s miso black cod recipe, which he published on the site in 2013, is the version I’ve been making for as long as I can remember. Kenji recommends broiling the fish, but if you don’t have a broiler or don’t feel like preheating the oven, you can do as I do and crank the heat on the air fryer. If you opt for the air fryer route, keep a close eye on the fish: It typically takes about eight minutes for the fish to finish cooking, but the timing will depend on the size of your fillets. Served with rice and some sautéed greens, it makes for a simple and satisfying meal—and one that tastes restaurant-worthy.

Until recently, I was fairly ambivalent about one-pan pasta recipes. I appreciate them in a pinch [here’s a longtime favorite; and this is my total comfort food], but I sometimes find that when the pasta is cooked in a sauce the whole time, it doesn’t quite get that al dente definition and structural integrity that it does when cooked in water. I’m so glad I didn’t quit on them, though, because with this recipe, not to be dramatic or anything, but I feel like I’ve finally cracked the code.

What’s the secret? It’s mostly water. I know, I know, I can hear* your eye roll from here. What I mean is, the one-pan pastas that work the best spend most of their cooking time in the element that cooks them best. And the magic — the flavor, the complexity — is in the layering that you do before and after. Before, we’re cooking garlic in a puddle of olive oil and/or butter. If you’re into crispy bits of salami in your pasta, you make them here and save them for the end. Then we add the water or broth, just enough that you’ll have a small puddle left in the pan to build your sauce upon. Two minutes before the pasta is done, we are dumping in an entire bag of frozen peas — hear hear for no measuring! One minute later, we add some cream. At the end, we finish it with parmesan, the crispy salami (if using), lemon zest, and some extra pepper flakes and mint, and this is where I stop resisting being dramatic.

I can’t stop. I’ve made this, and variations on it, more times for lunch and dinner in the last month than I’m even willing to admit here, a safe space where I can admit such things. It’s cozy and quick and because everything happens in one pot, there’s almost no mess to clean up, but it still tastes complex and fussed-over. The peas are perfectly cooked little pops of sweetness and they’re an ideal forkful match for the ditalini. The sauce is silky but unheavy; the crispy salami a heavenly accent. Come, make it an embarrassing amount of times with me.

* Having a teenager means, regretfully, these senses are heightened. Having a teenager also means that when I rolled my eyes at a certain antic at dinner last night, I was informed that my eyeroll was “weird” and “mostly on one side and then the other one follows after” and I should “practice it a little” — new complex just dropped, thanks kids!

This Braiser! While I’m usually loyal to my original circa 2014 black matte braiser — sleek! fashionable! — this time I couldn’t resist the deep, deep blue limited edition Staub x Smitten Kitchen Braiser we have in this spring, in case you spotted it here. My obsession with this pan grows every year. The story of this pan, and partnership, is that I bought my original braiser over a decade ago and when Staub stopped selling them in the US, I asked if they could bring them back. From there, the Staub x Smitten Kitchen Braiser was born. I find it to be the perfect size for 75% of the food I cook (stovetop, oven, oh and it’s dishwasher-safe too), which is why you see it so often on this site. I hope you love it too.

Video

One-Pan Ditalini and Peas