A Tuna of Two Cities: Seared Tuna with Citrus-Sesame Chimichurri
Modern Pan-Asian–Mediterranean fusion (seared tuna with a citrus-sesame herb chimichurri)
Time
35 minutes
Servings
2 servings
Difficulty
Medium

🥘 Ingredients

⚠️ Allergen Information

👨‍🍳 Instructions

  1. Rinse the jasmine rice under cold water until the water runs mostly clear. Combine the rinsed rice, 1 1/4 cups water, and a pinch (about 1/8 tsp) of salt in a small saucepan. Bring to a gentle boil over medium-high heat, then reduce to low, cover, and simmer for 12–14 minutes until the water is absorbed and the grains are tender. Remove from heat and keep covered while you prepare the rest (the rice will finish steaming and stay warm).
  2. Make the citrus-sesame chimichurri: in a food processor or finely chop by hand, combine parsley, cilantro, scallions, garlic, grated ginger, lemon zest, lemon juice, orange juice, rice vinegar, tamari (or soy sauce), toasted sesame oil, red pepper flakes, and 3 tbsp olive oil. Pulse or whisk to a loose, slightly coarse sauce—you want herb texture to remain. Stir in 1 tbsp toasted sesame seeds and season to taste with 1/4–1/2 tsp kosher salt and a pinch of black pepper. Adjust acidity or oil to taste. Reserve at room temperature.
  3. Quick-pickle the cucumber: in a small bowl combine 2 tbsp rice vinegar, 1 tsp sugar, and 1/4 tsp salt until dissolved. Add the cucumber ribbons/slices and toss to coat. Let sit at room temperature while you finish the prep (minimum 5 minutes, up to 30 minutes).
  4. Pat the tuna steaks dry and season both sides with about 1/2 tsp kosher salt and 1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper. Brush or rub each steak with a thin film of olive oil and the teaspoon of toasted sesame oil (this adds aroma and helps searing).
  5. Heat a large heavy skillet or cast-iron pan over high heat until very hot and shimmering (2–3 minutes). While the pan heats, toss the shishito peppers with 1 tbsp olive oil and a pinch of salt.
  6. Sear the peppers first: add the peppers to the dry-hot skillet and sear, stirring/turning frequently, until blistered and charred in spots, about 3–4 minutes. Transfer to a plate and sprinkle with flaky salt. Keep skillet hot for the tuna.
  7. Sear the tuna: add 1 tsp neutral oil (if needed) to the hot pan and place tuna steaks in the pan. Sear without moving for 45–60 seconds for a rare center (approx. 1¼" thick yields 1–1½ minutes total), then flip and sear the other side 45–60 seconds. For medium-rare add ~30 seconds per side. The exterior should develop a thin browned crust while the center stays pink. Remove tuna and let rest 2 minutes on a cutting board.
  8. While the tuna rests, separate the rice with a fork and spoon into two warm shallow bowls. Arrange a handful of microgreens or baby arugula beside the rice and fan sliced avocado on the other side.
  9. Slice the tuna crosswise into 1/4"–1/2" thick slices and fan over the rice. Spoon 2–3 tbsp of the citrus-sesame chimichurri over the tuna so the herb oil glosses the fillets but doesn’t drown them. Place blistered shishito peppers and quick-pickled cucumber ribbons on the plate as bright, crunchy accents.
  10. Garnish with an extra sprinkle of toasted sesame seeds, a crack of black pepper, and a lemon or lime wedge. Serve immediately so the tuna is warm at the edges and still tender and juicy in the center.

📖 Backstory

When I first dreamed up "A Tuna of Two Cities," I was very nearly trampled by a roaming flock of philosophy majors and olive trees on the Gare Maritime, which is to say I was in just the right state of cultured disarray. I had one foot in a pair of boat shoes bought in Athens two summers ago and the other foot in a ramen-crumbed slip-on pilfered at a Tokyo night market, and between those two shoes was the kind of tuna steak that refuses to be canned. The recipe arrived like a telegram from a distant relative: terse, a little passionate, and suspiciously full of citrus. I scribbled "seared tuna + citrus-sesame herb chimichurri" on the back of a napkin and swore I had invented an international treaty outlawing bad seasoning. The actual moment of culinary matrimony was less cinematic and more sticky: a busker in Barcelona taught me how to clap for parsley while a very serious vendor in Kyoto insisted toasted sesame oil was not a condiment, it was a lifestyle. I returned home with two tuna steaks, a pocketful of oregano I swore was imported, and a head full of utopian ideas about what happens when Mediterranean sunbeams flirt with Pan-Asian sesame whispers. The chimichurri that resulted was less like a sauce and more like a bilingual poet—citrus and herb arguing eloquently in one tongue while sesame oil nodded solemnly and olive oil translated. If this dish has a mission statement it's simple: to show that diplomacy can be delicious. Serve it to someone you want to impress, someone you owe an apology to, or someone you only half-remember from a rooftop dinner last month; the tuna will arrive browned and composed, the chimichurri spirited and diplomatic, and between the two they'll negotiate peace treaties over your palate. I accept no responsibility for the sudden influx of travel invitations, dinner party offers, or unsolicited praise that follows.