Crispy Dill Tilapia

September approaching. The last of summer. I went to the Tuesday Market one final time — the vendors packing up their rhubarb and radish stalls, the season closing, the agricultural economy of a three-month growing season wrapping up with the urgency of a final exam. I bought the last salmon of the season — sockeye, blood-red, the fish that carries the Alaskan summer in its flesh. I bought potatoes and carrots and the enormous zucchini that only Alaska produces, the vegetable equivalent of a state that does everything big.

Joseph called. He and Suki went fishing together — not commercial fishing, recreational, a Saturday on a small boat, catching rockfish and halibut and the particular variety of happiness that comes from two people who love the water sharing it. Suki knows the ocean the way Joseph knows the ocean — scientifically, practically, with the respect of people who understand that the water gives and the water takes and the giving and the taking are the same thing.

Lourdes is adjusting to the pandemic's slow loosening. She's started attending a small prayer group again — six women, masked, in Tita Mercy's living room, praying the rosary and exchanging gossip with equal fervor. The prayer group is Lourdes's community — the women who have sustained her since 1982, the network of Filipino aunties who are Anchorage's unofficial support system, the women who bring lumpia to funerals and adobo to new mothers and prayers to everything in between.

I made sinigang with the market salmon — Reynaldo's recipe, the salmon version, the Alaskan-Filipino hybrid. The tamarind was sour. The salmon was fresh. The kangkong wilted in the hot broth. I ate it at the table and thought about the end of summer and the beginning of autumn and the way Alaska transitions between the two — not gradually but suddenly, one week green and warm, the next week gold and cold, the seasons changing like someone flipped a switch.

I didn’t always have sockeye on hand after that last Tuesday Market closed up, and there were weeks when the freezer ran low and tilapia from the co-op had to carry the weight of memory — the weight of that blood-red flesh and that cold broth. This crispy dill preparation became my answer to those weeks: the dill bright and sharp like the Alaskan air after Labor Day, the crust giving the kind of satisfying crunch that makes you feel, even in the grey of early autumn, that something good is still happening at the table.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 12 minutes | Total Time: 22 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 tilapia fillets (about 6 oz each)
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup fine dry breadcrumbs
2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped (or 2 teaspoons dried dill)
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 large egg
2 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons olive oil or neutral oil, for frying
Lemon wedges, for serving

Instructions

Prepare the dredging stations. Set up three shallow dishes: one with the flour seasoned with salt and pepper, one with the egg whisked together with the milk, and one with the breadcrumbs mixed with dill, garlic powder, and onion powder.
Coat the fillets. Pat each tilapia fillet dry with a paper towel. Dredge in the seasoned flour, shaking off the excess, then dip into the egg mixture, and finally press into the dill breadcrumb mixture to coat both sides evenly.
Heat the pan. In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium-high heat until shimmering but not smoking, about 2 minutes.
Fry the fish. Working in batches if needed to avoid crowding, add the coated fillets to the skillet. Cook for 4—5 minutes on the first side without moving them, until the crust is deep golden and releases cleanly from the pan. Flip carefully and cook another 3—4 minutes on the second side until cooked through and crispy.
Rest and serve. Transfer the fillets to a plate lined with paper towels. Rest for 2 minutes. Serve immediately with lemon wedges alongside roasted vegetables or steamed rice.

Nutrition (per serving)

Crispy Dill Tilapia — When the Last Fish of Summer Deserves a Worthy Send-Off