Beurre Meunière is the kind of term reserved for a classical preparation. Though its origins are peasantry, it requires some level of technicality and execution. I say this, because I have seen burnt butter before.
[which is also delicious in certain circumstances, of course, but not suitable for Beurre Meunière]
Similarly, I am sure there are Frenchmen rolling over in brown buttered graves at my application of their beloved methodology here. To be fair, my introduction to the flavor of Beurre Meunière was backward, anyway. Most combine browned butter, lemon, parsley and/or thyme (and also sometimes capers), to form a sauce for fish. See Rachel Khoo do so here.
The fish is first dredged in flour. Hence, “à la meunière.” By the miller’s wife. Because flour was available in the home.
Gendered statements and heteronormativity, whew! I’m tired.
Meanwhile, I found Beurre Meunière like Colonel Mustard once probably murdered a person. At Trader Joe’s, being avoidant, with a bag of popcorn.
Given that I started on such an untraditional note-and also, I am me-I gave in to my compulsion to reinterpretation here. Cayenne speckles the golden milk solids in the browning butter. We mix parsley, thyme, and oregano for our herbs. We substitute Castelvetrano Olives for capers in the name of Brine. All of it coats yellow tangles of warm spaghetti squash and grilled chicken. We serve it with juicy bursts of freshly diced tomato and salty bites of crumbled feta. Hummus, optional.
Tradition is a thing, but–
Doing as others told me, I was blind. Coming when others called me, I was lost. Then I left everyone, myself as well. Then I found everyone, myself as well. -Rumi
I’ve heard that well-behaved women seldom make history, anyway. Time to swirl a fork in a mess of squash. Warmth and texture. Cool bursts of juice and feta salt. Inhale sweet and nutty. Exhale cares.
You do you. Picked and chosen, tangled and crumbled, hot and cold, spiced and herbal, queer and colorful, soothing and delicious.