Batter-Up Walleye

Mamma called Tuesday morning at 10 AM, as she always does, as she has done since she had a phone of her own in 1953. She wanted to know what I was making for dinner. The question matters to her in a way that I now understand at sixty-eight in a way I did not understand at thirty. The asking is the love. The answering is the love. The conversation is the bridge across the days. We talked for nineteen minutes. Mamma is ninety. The phone calls are precious and finite. I do not waste them. Anna sent photos from Minneapolis — the kids in their school uniforms, David's new bookshelf, the dog (their dog, not mine; their dog is named Cooper, and Cooper is a Bernese mountain dog who weighs more than Anna and who is, by all accounts, the most relaxed dog in the upper Midwest). I printed three of the photos and put them on the fridge. The fridge holds the family that is not currently in the kitchen. Elsa called from Voyageurs. She had a sighting of a wolf — a single gray adult crossing a frozen bay at dawn, fifty yards from her cabin. She had a sighting of a moose two days later. She is happy in the woods. I am glad someone in this family is happy in the woods. I have always loved Lake Superior, but the deeper woods are not for me. Elsa is for the deeper woods. The match is right. I cooked Split pea soup with ham this week. The ham bone from the Easter ham, saved in the freezer for exactly this purpose. Split peas soaked overnight. Onion, carrot, celery, the ham bone, water to cover, two hours of low simmer. The peas dissolve into a thick green sea. The ham falls off the bone. I shred the meat back in. Salt, pepper, a slice of buttered rye to dip. Damiano Thursday: a young father came in with two small children. He had not eaten in a day. The children had crackers from a bus station. I gave them three bowls each. They ate without speaking. The father wept silently while he ate. I pretended not to notice. Scandinavian decorum, applied with care. After he left, Gerald and I stood at the pot for a long minute. We did not speak. We knew what we had seen. The pot stayed warm. I miss Erik. I have been missing Erik more than I anticipated. I knew I would miss him, but I had not realized how often the missing would surface — in small specific moments, like noticing the wood pile is low and remembering that he used to chop it for me, or looking at the calendar and seeing the Sunday and knowing he is not coming for dinner. Erik was the closest person to me in space and time. The space and time are now not closed by anyone in particular. The kids fill the gap as they can. The gap is still a gap. It is enough. It has to be. And on a morning like this, with the lake doing what the lake does and the dog at my feet and the bread on the counter and the kitchen warm enough to live in, it is. It is enough.

The split pea soup carried the week — the long simmer, the ham bone, the bowls at Damiano’s that fed a father who needed to be fed. But Elsa’s call from Voyageurs stayed with me: a wolf on a frozen bay, a moose two days later, all that cold clean lake light. This part of the world gives us things we don’t deserve and asks nothing back, and walleye is one of them — a fish that belongs entirely to the Upper Midwest, honest and unfussy and perfect in a good hot batter. I make it the old way, the way it has always been made around these lakes, because some things do not need improving.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 lbs walleye fillets, skin removed, cut into 3–4 oz portions
1 cup all-purpose flour, divided
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp kosher salt, plus more for finishing
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/2 tsp garlic powder
1/4 tsp paprika
1 large egg, beaten
3/4 cup cold lager beer (or cold sparkling water)
Vegetable oil, for frying (about 2 inches depth)
Lemon wedges and tartar sauce, for serving

Instructions

Dry the fish. Pat walleye portions thoroughly dry with paper towels. Season lightly on both sides with salt and pepper. Set aside on a wire rack.
Set up the dredging station. Place 1/4 cup of the flour in a shallow dish. In a separate bowl, whisk together the remaining 3/4 cup flour, baking powder, 1 tsp salt, pepper, garlic powder, and paprika. Add the beaten egg and cold beer; whisk until just combined. A few lumps are fine — do not overwork the batter.
Heat the oil. Pour vegetable oil into a heavy skillet or Dutch oven to a depth of 2 inches. Heat over medium-high until it reaches 375°F. Use a thermometer; the temperature matters for a crisp, non-greasy crust.
Batter the fillets. Working one piece at a time, dredge each fillet in the plain flour and shake off the excess. Dip into the beer batter, letting any drips fall back into the bowl, then lower carefully into the hot oil.
Fry in batches. Fry 2–3 pieces at a time, 3–4 minutes per side, until the batter is deep golden and the fish flakes easily when pressed. Do not crowd the pan. Maintain oil temperature between batches.
Drain and finish. Transfer fried fillets to a clean wire rack set over a baking sheet. Season immediately with a pinch of kosher salt. Keep warm in a 200°F oven while you finish the remaining batches.
Serve. Plate with lemon wedges, tartar sauce, and a slice of buttered rye bread if you have it. Eat while it is hot.

Nutrition (per serving)

Batter-Up Walleye — What the Lakes Give Back