Catfish Cakes — Bringing Saigon Home, One Plate at a Time

The first full day in Saigon we ate pho for breakfast. Not at a restaurant — at a street stall, two plastic stools pulled up to a folding table on the sidewalk, at 6:30 AM, with motorbikes six inches from our elbows. The pho was extraordinary. The broth was clear and deep and had a warmth that came from somewhere older than the kitchen it was made in. Mai took one sip and was quiet. Then she took another. Then she said, very quietly, "It's different. But it's right." That was the moment I understood that this trip was going to be everything I hoped and nothing I expected.

Duc took us to District 3 on the second day. Mai's old neighborhood. The street was there — the name I'd carried in my wallet since 2003, written on a scrap of paper from a flu-delirium conversation. The house was gone, replaced by a cellphone shop, as Duc had told me. But the street was there. The trees were there — old ones, taller than I expected, their roots buckling the sidewalk. The market at the end of the street was there, modernized but still operating, still selling fish and vegetables and herbs that Mai could name in Vietnamese faster than I could follow.

And Mrs. Thi was there. Eighty-six years old, small as a bird, standing in front of her house — the same house, the actual same house she'd lived in since the 1960s. She saw Mai and she said her name. Not "Mrs. Tran." She said "Mai." And Mai stopped walking. She stopped. She stood on the sidewalk where she'd walked as a girl and she looked at a woman she hadn't seen in forty-seven years and she said, "Thi." And then they were holding each other and crying, two old women on a sidewalk in Saigon, and I stood behind them with Duc and we both looked at the sky because there was nowhere else to look.

Mrs. Thi invited us into her house. It was small and dark and cool. She made tea. She and Mai talked for three hours in Vietnamese that I could barely follow — fast, emotional, full of names and places and stories that spanned decades. Mrs. Thi told Mai that her sister Thanh had survived. Thanh had stayed in Saigon, married, had children, and died in 2010. Her children still live in the city. Mrs. Thi had their contact information. Mai held the piece of paper with the phone number like it was made of glass.

We spent the rest of the week eating. Street food: bánh mì from a cart, cơm tấm from a woman on a motorbike, bún riêu from a stall in Ben Thanh Market. Everything tasted different here — sharper, greener, more alive. The herbs were more pungent. The fish sauce was fishier. The lime was more sour. The food I'd been making in Houston all these years was an echo. This was the original sound.

Mai ate everything. She pointed at things I'd never seen and said "try this" and I did. She bought bags of dried herbs and spices and stuffed them in the duffel bag I'd brought empty. She was lighter. Linh was right. She was setting something down. I could see it happening in real time, meal by meal, street by street.

I came home from Saigon carrying more than those bags of dried herbs. I came home understanding what Mai meant all those years when she’d say the food she made in Houston was “close, but not the same.” I can’t recreate that broth, not exactly — not without the street, the motorbikes, the roots buckling the sidewalk. But I can cook something with my hands and mean it. These catfish cakes are what I made the first weekend back: simple, briny, fried in a hot pan, eaten at the kitchen table with Mai across from me. She took one bite and nodded. That was enough.

Catfish Cakes

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

Ingredients

• 1 lb catfish fillets
• 1/2 cup plain breadcrumbs, plus more for coating
• 1 egg, lightly beaten
• 3 tablespoons mayonnaise
• 2 green onions, finely chopped
• 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• 1 teaspoon fish sauce
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 2 tablespoons neutral oil (vegetable or canola), for pan-frying
• Lime wedges and fresh herbs, for serving

Instructions

1. Poach the catfish. Place catfish fillets in a skillet and cover with lightly salted water. Bring to a gentle simmer over medium heat and cook 8–10 minutes, until fish is opaque and flakes easily. Drain, let cool slightly, and flake into a large bowl with a fork. Remove any bones.
2. Mix the cakes. Add breadcrumbs, egg, mayonnaise, green onions, Dijon mustard, fish sauce, garlic powder, black pepper, cayenne, and salt to the flaked catfish. Stir gently until combined — do not overmix. The mixture should hold together when pressed.
3. Form and coat. Divide mixture into 8 equal portions and shape into patties about 3/4 inch thick. Lightly press each side into additional breadcrumbs to coat. Place on a plate and refrigerate 10 minutes to help them hold their shape.
4. Pan-fry. Heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add catfish cakes in a single layer, working in batches if needed. Cook 3–4 minutes per side without pressing down, until deep golden brown and crisp on both sides.
5. Rest and serve. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate and let rest 2 minutes. Serve with lime wedges and a handful of fresh herbs — cilantro, mint, or Thai basil all work well.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 280 | Protein: 22g | Fat: 15g | Carbs: 12g | Fiber: 0.5g | Sodium: 520mg