Tuna Patties with Dill Sauce

The date was Saturday. Jen came over at 5 PM and vetoed three outfits before approving a pair of dark jeans and a green blouse that I forgot I owned. She did my makeup (light — "you don't need much, just enough to look like you tried"), and I looked in the mirror and saw a woman with curly hair and green eyes and the faintest crow's feet of a person who has laughed more than she's cried, though the margin is narrow. I looked okay. I looked like myself, which is the best a person can look on a first date.

Brett took the kids. (Brett is my childcare, my confidant, and my emergency contact, and I don't know what I'd do without him, and I tell him this regularly, and he says "stop being weird about it" regularly, which is how Dawsons say "I love you too.")

The restaurant was a small Italian place in the North End. Tom was already there. He stood when I walked in — stood up, out of his chair, the way men used to stand when a woman entered a room, and I thought: oh. He's real. The man from the phone is real and he stands up when I walk in and his eyes are blue and his handshake is firm and his smile is the same one from the Bumble photo, the one I swiped right on at midnight in a dark kitchen with a three-legged dog at my feet.

We talked for two hours. About Fish and Game. About the clinic. About his daughter Megan in Portland. About Mason and Lily. About cooking — he makes a trout dish with lemon and capers that he described with such specificity that I could taste it across the table. About Idaho. About the Magic Valley and his grandparents' place near Jerome and the particular quality of Idaho sunlight in September, which we both agreed is the best light on earth.

He didn't try to be impressive. He didn't talk about himself too much. He asked questions and listened to the answers and when I told him about the cancer — briefly, matter-of-factly, the way I tell it now — he didn't flinch. He said, "I'm glad you're here." That's it. Not "I'm sorry" (which I don't need). Not "you're so brave" (which I don't believe). Just: I'm glad you're here. Four words. The right four words.

He walked me to my car. He didn't try to kiss me. He said, "Can I see you again?" I said, "Yes." He said, "Soon?" I said, "Yes." He said, "I'll bring the trout." I laughed. I drove home. I sat in the driveway for five minutes. I was smiling. I couldn't stop smiling. I went inside and Brett was on the couch with the kids asleep and he looked at me and said, "That good?" and I said, "That good," and he smiled and didn't ask anything else, because Brett knows when a smile is the whole answer.

He said he’d bring the trout, and I believe him — but in the meantime, a woman needs to eat. That description he gave, lemon and capers and something he’d clearly made a hundred times with real intention, stayed with me the whole drive home. I wasn’t ready to attempt his trout (that feels like a second-date kind of pressure), but I needed something in that same neighborhood: a simple, bright, pan-seared fish that tastes like someone actually cared when they made it. These tuna patties with dill sauce are exactly that — quick enough for a weeknight, good enough to remind you that food, like the right four words, doesn’t need to be complicated to hit exactly where it should.

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

Ingredients

2 cans (5 oz each) albacore tuna in water, drained well
1/2 cup plain breadcrumbs
1 large egg, beaten
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon capers, drained and roughly chopped
3 green onions, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped (divided)
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons olive oil or butter, for the pan
For the dill sauce:
1/2 cup sour cream
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon fresh dill, chopped
1 small garlic clove, finely grated
Pinch of salt and pepper

Instructions

Make the dill sauce. Stir together the sour cream, lemon juice, fresh dill, garlic, salt, and pepper in a small bowl. Taste and adjust seasoning. Refrigerate until ready to serve.
Mix the patties. In a medium bowl, combine the drained tuna, breadcrumbs, egg, mayonnaise, Dijon, lemon juice, capers, green onions, 1 tablespoon of the fresh dill, salt, and pepper. Mix until evenly combined — the mixture should hold together when pressed.
Form the patties. Divide the mixture into 4 equal portions and press each into a patty roughly 3/4-inch thick. Set on a plate and refrigerate for 5 minutes if time allows; this helps them hold together in the pan.
Pan-sear. Heat olive oil or butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. When shimmering, add the patties without crowding. Cook undisturbed for 4 to 5 minutes until deeply golden on the bottom, then flip carefully and cook another 3 to 4 minutes on the second side.
Serve. Transfer patties to plates, top with a spoonful of dill sauce, and scatter the remaining fresh dill over the top. Serve with lemon wedges and a simple green salad or roasted vegetables alongside.

Nutrition (per serving)

Tuna Patties with Dill Sauce — Waiting on the Trout He Promised to Bring