Catfish

One day while cooking a pot of red beans, I noticed that the juice had a beautiful, silky sheen. It occurred to me that the beans might make a good sauce if pureed really smoothly with their cooking liquid. An idea was born—really: that’s all it takes! I played around with seasonings and decided I liked the warm hint of cinnamon married with the spicy flavors of poblano and chipotle. Adding fresh lime juice at the end of the process brightens up the earthiness of the puree. The light coating of cornmeal gives the fish a nice crunch to contrast with the creamy sauce (which, incidentally, is wonderful with grilled fish of any kind—trout, redfish, or snapper are particularly good). A side of Green Rice (p. 309) is a perfect accompaniment.

The three main ingredients in this recipe—pecans, cornmeal, and catfish—are all common in Southern cooking. The carrot slaw served on the side is lighter in fat and calories than more traditional mayonnaise-based slaws.

Whenever our family gets together for dinner at my parents’ house, this dish is usually on the menu. To make it, catfish fillets are cut into pieces and panfried to a golden crisp. When the fish is removed from the pan, the oil that remains is used to sauté onion and ginger into a heady mixture that is finished with fish sauce and water and then served like a relish. Most catfish sold today are farm-raised and thus lean, so don’t skimp on the oil. Also, the fish splatters during frying, so you might want to use a splatter guard and/or put newspaper on the floor around the stove to speed cleanup.

In this classic southern Vietnamese kho, catfish steaks are simmered for about an hour, which turns them a mahogany brown and gives them a deep savory flavor tinged with sweetness. You may enrich the dish with oil, though I prefer the old-world technique of my mom’s friend Mrs. Ly, who renders pork fat and simmers the cracklings with the fish. Buy a whole fresh catfish (about three pounds, gutted weight) at a Chinese, Southeast Asian, or Latin market and ask the fishmonger to cut it into one-inch-thick steaks. Use the center-cut steaks for this recipe and save the head, collar, and tail pieces to make Sour Fish Soup with Tamarind, Pineapple, and Okra (page 66), in place of the fillet. Serve the kho with the soup, a boiled green vegetable or Crunchy Pickled Bean Sprout Salad (page 193), and rice. For the best taste, combine a little piece of the fish, some rice, and a bit of sauce in each bite.

Rich with contrasts, this soup is easy to like. The tamarind and pineapple provide a sweet-and-sour edge, while the okra, tomato, and bean sprouts offer spongy, soft, and crunchy textures. The catfish and cumin ground the dish with their pungent, earthy qualities. If rice paddy herb (rau om) is available, use it for a citrusy accent. Sour fish soups are eaten throughout Southeast Asia. The Viet version often includes sliced taro stems (bac ha), a flavorless ingredient known for its ability to absorb other flavors. I generally omit the stems because they don’t contribute much to the soup, and instead increase the amount of okra, which is added at the end. If you can’t find fresh okra, use frozen whole okra, thawing it and slicing it before you add it to the pan. When fresh or frozen pineapple isn’t around, don’t resort to canned. It is not the same. The soup will be a bit tangier but equally sensational without the pineapple.

This Northern Vietnamese boodle dish hits all five major taste sensations: salty, sour, sweet, bitter, and umami (savory). The unusual ingredient combination includes galangal, shrimp sauce, sesame rice crackers, and sour cream, the last standing in for me, the same mash of fermented cooked rice traditionally used in mock turtle stew (page 153). For many Vietnamese, the definitive cha ca is the rather complicated version served at the landmark Hanoi restaurant Cha Ca La Vong. There, the fish is cooked partially on a grill and then finished at the table in a skillet of oil, scallion, and dill. While that restaurant rendition is delicious, my family takes an easier path to making the dish. We broil the fish and then enrich it with scallion and dill seared in hot oil. The fish can also be grilled over a medium-hot fire, but the small pieces can be difficult to manage on a grill.

My spicy, tangy catfish tacos are a great way to feed a hungry beach crowd without the hassle of frying or grilling. Load up a rimmed baking sheet with fish fillets, pour on the marinade, refrigerate overnight, and just before serving, bake for less than 30 minutes. Heat flour or corn tortillas in a tortilla warmer along with the fish, and set it all out on the table with a bowl of chipotle mayo and a platter of thin-sliced cabbage. Now everybody chow down! The fish is just the way I like it—juicy and flavorful thanks to long marination (at least 6 hours) and oven baking. I’ve allowed two tacos per person to ensure you’ll have enough even for man-size, sun-fueled appetites. (What is it about playing on the beach that makes men so hungry?) If you have a smaller crowd or guests with smaller stomachs, halve the recipe.

I’m as intimidated about making fish tacos for California friends as they would be to make chili for me. But I’ve learned the rules: No baking the fish, no guacamole (makes the fish soggy), no flour tortillas (although there’s some dispute on that point)? And you should hear the unprintable things they say about versions that include mayonnaise! It just so happens that I agree on all those points, except for one, which my Cali-friends will discover when they read this: I have actually made pretty darn crisp catfish in the oven. When it’s just you alone in the kitchen, and you don’t feel like frying, I won’t judge.

The Savannah River is one of Georgia’s longest and largest rivers and defines most of the boundary between Georgia and South Carolina. I’ve seen photos of my grandfather and his brother with catfish almost as big as a man that they caught in the Savannah River. Wild catfish that live in rivers, lakes, and ponds are bottom dwellers, and the flesh picks up a distinctively earthy flavor. For years, there were catfish in our pond even though the pond was solely stocked with bass and bream. Dede explained to me when I was young that the catfish eggs would be transported on the wings and feet of the water birds. So, it was something special when we would catch them. We’d catch these monsters, and they terrified me, with their flat black mouths and whiskers popping as they flailed on the shore. The whiskers are scary, but they are not what hurts. Dede had a few special tools in his tackle box to deal with catfish. The fish have sharp spines on their fins, and he would fearlessly grab them behind the head and clip off the fins with pliers. Catfish also differ in that they don’t have scales. But their skin is tough and they have to be skinned before they are eaten. He’d hammer a nail through their head into the tree and, using the same pliers, peel the skin off the fish like taking off a sock from your foot. If you are not catching your own, make a point to buy American farm-raised catfish, which are fed a diet of high-protein pellets made from soybean meal, corn, and rice that give the flesh a consistent, sweet, mild flavor. You just don’t know what you are getting if you buy imported fish.

The fish fry is right up on the list of orchestrated Southern feasts, along with the “pig pull” and “dinner on the grounds.” It’s a great party and wildly different from throwing a few burgers on the grill. And fried fish are just flat-out good. My grandparents met at a fish fry in 1930 and were inseparable through almost 65 years of marriage. They were a great team but there was no doubt who was the boss. For as long as I can remember, they had a motor home. They drove as far south as the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico and to Fairbanks at the far end of the Alaska Highway, where they caught a small plane to the North Pole. I was able to take several long trips with them when I was young. Once the three of us drove north, through Detroit into Canada, east to Nova Scotia, where we caught the ferry to Newfoundland. We were on the one main road in Newfoundland to St. John’s and were about halfway across the island when Meme looked at my grandfather and said, “Sam, pull over in that gas station. I’m ready to go home.” He did, and we did.

In America, we’re accustomed to eating sweet potatoes candied with maple syrup and brown sugar, or even topped with marshmallows, for a supersweet Thanksgiving side dish. But savory sweet potatoes are another experience entirely. Sweet potatoes with Creole seasoning are fabulous, and with this recipe they’re very easy to make. Any Cajun or Creole seasoning mix from the grocery will do, or make your own by mixing equal parts paprika, salt, and a dash of cayenne. Be careful with the cayenne, as a little goes a long way. Beets make a delicious red substitute for tomatoes if you can’t find good fresh ones for this dish. If you prefer white potatoes, feel free to substitute a large baking potato for the sweet potato. Frozen green beans are a quick solution when you want something green to toss into a pot meal. Simply shake some beans into the pot, reseal the bag, and keep it in the freezer. A single bag can often last for quite a few meals.

The nutty crunch of these fish sticks harkens back to that cafeteria offering in name only. So fun and easy to eat, they’re a great way to introduce younger generations to eating fish. We got Jack to eat fish by adding pecans to it. Catfish is a real staple here in the South, but if it’s not readily available in your area, try using flounder or cod.

This dish might sound a little strange coming from me, I grant you that. But you know I wouldn’t bother with it if it didn’t make me some dough, and the concoction has won me a bunch of money in contest ancillary categories over the years. It’s a Myron Mixon original recipe if ever there was one.

Alejandro O’Reilly was the Irish-born Spanish general sent to bring the Louisiana Territories to order after France ceded the region to Spain. Throughout New Orleans cooking you will see an easy blending of French and Spanish culinary styles, easier perhaps than the actual history of the Louisiana Territory. This escabèche is inspired by the history of that city I love to visit. From the Irish Channel to the funky music district of Frenchmen Street, the Spanish influence can still be tasted.

When I went fishing with my dad, more often than not we caught buckets of catfish. I loved every moment of those days, right up until he’d cook the catfish by just tossing it on the grill with nothing more than some salt and pepper—then I wasn’t so happy. I loved just about anything breaded—still do!—so I took matters into my own hands and came up with this recipe. The breading keeps the fish tender and moist. The only thing I’ve changed about this dish since I was a kid is the bread crumbs. Ever since fluffy Japanese panko (page 80) has become widely available, I use it instead of regular dried bread crumbs for almost all my breaded dishes. Try this with Spicy Roasted Brussels Sprouts (page 138) and Lemon Fettuccine (page 134).

Frying fish in peanut oil (like using lard for fried chicken) gives catfish the crispiest, least greasy coating imaginable.

Breaded fish is one of our favorites. The richness of pine nuts nicely balances the lemon and herbs to make an irresistible dish. Use just about any fish: flounder, salmon, tilapia, perch, cod, snapper, catfish.

For a simple supper, we can’t imagine adding anything to this dish other than sliced tomatoes, zydeco music, and a little two-step.

This mildly seasoned fish with its medley of Creole veggies is wonderful over steamed brown rice.