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Blackened Catfish with Mango Avocado Salsa — The Dinner That Tastes Like the Day

Beach Wednesdays are sacred. The drive to Ocean Beach, the setup (towels, umbrella, cooler), the hours of sand and salt and sun. The weekly reset. This week Caleb attempted body surfing on his own. Without Ryan. He walked into the waves, turned his back to the ocean (I held my breath), and let a wave push him toward shore. He came up sputtering and GRINNING. 'I DID IT, MAMA! I SURFED!' He didn't surf. He fell forward in white water. But the joy was real, and the pride was real, and the salt water in his grinning mouth was real. Hazel built a sand castle. Not a castle — a FORTRESS. She packed sand with the determination of an engineer and the aesthetic of an artist: pink shells embedded in every wall (she found every pink shell on the beach, and there were four). Emily and Pri joined us with their kids. The beach squad. Six adults, eight kids, enough sunscreen to paint a house. We sat in a row of chairs and watched the kids and ate sandwiches and talked about nothing important. 'This is the best part,' Emily said. 'The nothing-important part.' She's right. The nothing-important conversations are the important ones. The ones where you're not solving problems or planning logistics or managing crises — just BEING. Being friends. Being mothers. Being women at the beach while their children scream in the water. Made fish tacos tonight. The beach-day staple. The dinner that tastes like the day. The wave. The fortress. The nothing-important. Beach Wednesdays.

After a day of salt water and pink shells and nothing-important conversations with my favorite people, I wanted dinner to feel like an extension of all of it — bright, a little bold, and completely uncomplicated. Blackened catfish with mango avocado salsa hits every note: the spice of the blackening seasoning, the sweetness of ripe mango, the cool richness of avocado. It’s the kind of meal that doesn’t ask anything of you, which is exactly right after a day that gave you everything. We ate it in tacos, standing over the kitchen counter, still smelling like sunscreen.

Blackened Catfish with Mango Avocado Salsa

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 4 catfish fillets (about 6 oz each)
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 1 tablespoon smoked paprika
  • 1 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1 teaspoon onion powder
  • 1 teaspoon dried oregano
  • 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1 ripe mango, peeled and diced
  • 1 ripe avocado, diced
  • 1/4 cup red onion, finely diced
  • 1 jalapeño, seeded and minced
  • 2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, chopped
  • Juice of 1 lime
  • Salt to taste
  • Flour or corn tortillas, for serving

Instructions

  1. Make the salsa. In a medium bowl, gently combine the mango, avocado, red onion, jalapeño, and cilantro. Squeeze lime juice over the top, season with salt, and toss lightly. Set aside.
  2. Mix the seasoning. In a small bowl, stir together the smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, oregano, cayenne, black pepper, and salt.
  3. Season the fish. Pat the catfish fillets dry with paper towels. Brush both sides with olive oil, then press the spice mixture evenly onto both sides of each fillet.
  4. Cook the catfish. Heat a cast iron skillet or heavy pan over medium-high heat until very hot. Add the fillets and cook for 3–4 minutes per side, until the crust is deeply browned and the fish flakes easily with a fork.
  5. Assemble the tacos. Warm your tortillas in a dry skillet or directly over a gas flame. Break the catfish into chunks and divide among the tortillas. Top generously with the mango avocado salsa and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 380 | Protein: 34g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 480mg

Rachel Abernathy
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 479 of Rachel’s 30-year story · San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.

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