Hoarding Halibut 3

There are meals meant for sharing, and then there are those so exquisite they demand complete possession. My recent encounter with halibut was of the latter sort.

The fillet arrived, its surface bronzed to perfection, yielding beneath the fork to reveal tender, delicate flakes. A whisper of citrus, a brush of butter, and the faint perfume of herbs elevated it beyond sustenance into pure experience.

I ate slowly, reverently, unwilling to surrender even a morsel. Friends requested a taste; I demurred. This was not an act of rudeness but of reverence. Some dishes cannot be diluted by division—they ask to be savored in their entirety.

To hoard this halibut was not indulgence, but devotion. Each bite a private communion, fleeting yet unforgettable.