Some dishes come from a recipe. Others come from a moment.

This one started with a signed menu, the kind handed to you on your last day at per se, a tradition in the Thomas Keller restaurant family. The entire team signs it, a page of that day’s tasting menu turned into a kind of culinary yearbook.
We’ve got a few of those menus. Some mark celebrations. Others, transitions. But this one marked the end of a chapter that shaped us in ways we’re still unraveling. It was our final day in a restaurant that kicked our asses and gave us everything we needed.

Trial By Fire

Theresa and I were practically kids when we started at per se. She was 21, stepping into a dining room that demanded polish and precision, and a kitchen where the front-of-house spent much of their night weaving between cooks at full tilt. Her first role had her wiping plates in the pass, memorizing French culinary terms, and gently reminding the garde manger cook that, yes, they forgot the romaine spear again. You tiptoe. You try not to get yelled at. You try to remember whether table 16 is in the main dining room or in the salon. You figure it out. I had a different kind of onboarding.

My first few months weren’t paid. I was an intern, showing up at 11 a.m. every day for dinner service prep. Technically, you weren’t even allowed in the kitchen before that hour. They didn’t want it to be too easy for you. So I’d wait in the locker room, early, always, and then spend the next 14 hours doing whatever was asked. And at that restaurant, the standards for “whatever” are high.

Most of my day was spent chasing down herb requests from the cooks. Micro parsley for the entremetier, 300 individual plushes. Fines herbs and frisée tips for the poissonier, you get the picture. I’m a big guy with big hands, and they are not well suited to microgreens. But I got faster. More precise. You had to.

And then there were the eggshells.

The canapé station had a truffle custard dish, never printed on the menu, always ready in case a VIP needed a little magic or a moment needed saving. The custard was served inside a real eggshell, perfectly topped and cleaned. That was my job. I’d use this finicky little egg topper to shave the top clean off. No cracks allowed. The cuts had to be even, parallel with the ground. Then the shells were soaked in warm water with vinegar to loosen the membrane, just enough, but not too much or they’d get brittle. For every dozen usable shells, I’d ruin 40. Easily.

That was the job. Picking herbs and cleaning eggshells, five days a week, 14 hours a day, for three months. Just to earn a chance at being hired.

Earning Our Stripes

Fast-forward three years. We’d both made it. Theresa had been promoted to back-server, and I was the house butcher. It wasn’t a line position, but it carried a certain weight. It taught me skills I still lean on today, knife control, respect for product, a deeper understanding of where flavor begins.

One day, my mentor, one of the sous chefs, walked into the butcher room, closed the door, and said, “You know you’re moving to California, right?” It wasn’t a question. It was a tap on the shoulder.

He had just accepted the role of Chef de Cuisine at The French Laundry. He knew the type of cook I was becoming. He also knew I still had more to learn, and he wanted to keep pushing.

I hadn’t known I was moving. But a few months later, Theresa and I were packed and on our way to Napa Valley.

From Manhattan to the Marina

Years later, we pulled that signed menu out again, not in a fine dining kitchen, but in our apartment, cooking on a single-burner stove on the back porch. The menu listed a dish: Chatham Bay Cod with Anchovy Tempura, Artichokes, Eggplant, Romaine, Anchoïade.

It was clean, confident, briny, and bold. And it felt like the perfect challenge, to translate that moment into something we could make and share here. Not with tweezers and someone to pick our microgreens for us, but with the limitations (and creativity) of life on the water.

Serves: 2
Prep Time: 15 min
Cook Time: 25 min
Gear needed: One cast iron or sauté pan + sauce pot for boiling potatoes

Ingredients:

2 cod fillets (150–180g / 5–6 oz each)
1 tbsp (15 ml) olive oil or neutral oil
Salt + freshly ground black pepper
10 small marble potatoes (about 300 g total)
1 medium shallot, thinly sliced (about 75 g)
3-4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced (12 g)
¾ cup (150 g) marinated artichoke hearts, quartered
Juice of ½ lemon (about 15 ml)
1 handful romaine lettuce, finely diced (30 g)
A few crisp romaine tips for garnish

Anchovy Butter (The Activator):

2 tbsp (30 g) unsalted butter, softened
2 oil-packed anchovy fillets, finely chopped (8 g)
1 tbsp (4 g) fresh parsley, finely chopped
Pinch of salt + pepper

Method:

Boil the Potatoes
Cut potatoes in half (or leave whole if small). Boil in salted water until just tender, about 12–15 minutes. Drain, let cool slightly, then split into bite-sized pieces.
Make the Anchovy Butter
In a small bowl, mix softened butter, chopped anchovies, parsley, salt, and pepper. Set aside to melt into the pan later.
Sear the Cod
Heat oil in a cast iron or sauté pan over high heat. You want that pan smoking before you even think about putting the fish in the pan. Pat cod dry, season with salt and pepper, and sear for 1-2 minutes until golden. Baste with pan juices.
Build the Pan Sauce Base
In the same pan, while the fish is continuing to cook, turn the heat down to medium and add sliced shallots and garlic. Sauté 1–2 minutes until softened. Add marinated artichokes and split potatoes. Let everything caramelize, undisturbed, for 2–3 minutes.
Finish the Sauce
Add diced romaine and anchovy butter. Let it melt and coat everything, scraping up browned bits from the pan. Flip the fish and allow the backside to cook with all of the flavor that has been built up in the pan. Squeeze in lemon juice and toss gently to combine. Baste the top of the fish and turn the heat off, it’s done.
Plate It Up
Spoon a tight mound of the potato-artichoke mix on each plate. Lay cod fillet on top. Finish with a spoonful of pan drippings and garnish with crisp romaine tips for freshness and lift.

Galley Club Pro Tips

One pan, two pots max. Boil potatoes ahead of time if space is tight.
Shelf-stable wins: Anchovies, artichokes, and cod (frozen works!) mean this dish is always within reach.
Don’t rush the caramelization. Those crispy edges? That’s where the flavor lives.
No cod? No problem. Use snapper, halibut, sea bass, or even shrimp.

Taking the Elevator

You’ve heard us talk about the activator, that finishing move that ties the whole thing together and makes it sing.

Here, it’s twofold:

Anchovy butter: Silky, salty, deeply savory. It wraps around the potatoes, shallots, and fish like a warm hug from the Mediterranean.
Raw romaine tips: Don’t sleep on the garnish. That fresh crunch cuts through the richness and makes the dish feel composed.

Galley Food That Goes the Distance

This is the kind of dish that reminds us why we cook. It’s rooted in a memory, one that was formed under pressure, forged through mentorship, and carried with us through kitchens, coasts, and now, a one-burner porch galley pretending to be a boat.

But that’s the thing: good food isn’t about the gear. It’s about the intention.

So whether you’re anchored off Nantucket, docked in the Keys, or just dreaming of a breeze while cooking in your backyard, this cod delivers.

Thanks for cooking with us. Cheers!
Max & Theresa