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Crispy Fish Tacos Recipe — The Fish That Tastes Like a Good Saturday

Clay's junior year is winding down. Finals next week, then summer, then senior year, and then — the then that Connie and I don't talk about because talking about it makes it real. Then whatever comes next. Football scholarship, maybe. The Army, maybe. Work, maybe. The future is a map with multiple routes and Clay hasn't picked one yet, and the father in me wants to grab the map and highlight the safest road and the man in me knows that's not how it works. You can't navigate for your children. You can only make sure they know how to read a map.

I made catfish this week. Fried catfish, which is the freshwater fish of the South, the fish that coal miners' families caught out of the rivers and creeks because catfish is ugly and abundant and free, and poor people eat what's free before they eat what costs money.

Betty's fried catfish: catfish fillets, soaked in buttermilk for an hour. Dredge in a mixture of cornmeal, flour, salt, pepper, and a pinch of cayenne. Fry in peanut oil or vegetable oil at 350 degrees until the crust is dark golden and the fish flakes easily — about four minutes per side for a standard fillet. Drain on a paper bag. Serve with hush puppies, coleslaw, and tartar sauce.

The hush puppies are the supporting actor who steals the show. Mix cornmeal, a little flour, baking powder, salt, diced onion, an egg, and enough buttermilk to make a thick batter. Drop by spoonfuls into the hot oil (the same oil you fried the fish in — don't waste oil). Fry until dark golden on all sides, about three minutes. They're crispy outside, soft inside, onion-flavored, perfect for dunking in tartar sauce or just eating by the fistful, which is how Clay eats them because Clay doesn't dunk, Clay consumes.

We had a fish fry on Saturday. Travis brought Jolene. I set up the fryer on the back patio because frying catfish inside is a one-way ticket to a house that smells like a Long John Silver's for a week. The evening was warm — May warm, not August warm, the comfortable kind — and we ate outside at the picnic table (the new one, since Clay broke the old one at the Fourth of July). Jolene brought coleslaw. Connie made sweet tea. I fried catfish and hush puppies until everyone stopped eating, which took a while because Travis alone consumed approximately eight fillets.

After everyone left, Connie and I cleaned up and she said "These are the good days." She wasn't being nostalgic. She was being present. She meant: right now, with all three kids healthy and close and eating catfish on a Saturday, these are the good days. We should notice them. We should taste them. Because the good days don't announce themselves. They disguise themselves as ordinary Saturdays with fish and hush puppies and a son who eats too much and a daughter who's going to be a nurse and another son who might go to war. Notice them, Craig. Taste them. They won't last forever.

Connie’s words — “these are the good days” — stayed with me all week, and I kept coming back to the fact that it was the fish that made the evening. Not a fancy cut of meat, not a complicated recipe, just hot oil and cornmeal and a patio full of people who love each other. If you want to bring that same energy to your table, this crispy fish recipe is the one to reach for: fast enough for a weeknight, satisfying enough to make a Saturday feel like something worth noticing.

Crispy Fish Tacos

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 27 min | Servings: 4 (about 8 tacos)

Ingredients

  • 1 1/2 lbs white fish fillets (catfish, cod, or tilapia), cut into strips
  • 1 cup buttermilk
  • 3/4 cup fine yellow cornmeal
  • 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1 tsp kosher salt
  • 1/2 tsp black pepper
  • 1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
  • 1/2 tsp garlic powder
  • Vegetable oil or peanut oil, for frying (about 2 cups)
  • 8 small flour or corn tortillas, warmed
  • 2 cups shredded green cabbage or coleslaw mix
  • 1/2 cup sour cream or plain Greek yogurt
  • 2 tbsp mayonnaise
  • 1 tbsp fresh lime juice
  • 1 tsp hot sauce (optional)
  • Fresh cilantro and lime wedges, for serving

Instructions

  1. Soak the fish. Place the fish strips in a shallow bowl and pour the buttermilk over them. Let soak for at least 15 minutes at room temperature (or up to 1 hour in the refrigerator). This keeps the fish moist and helps the crust stick.
  2. Make the slaw sauce. While the fish soaks, whisk together the sour cream, mayonnaise, lime juice, and hot sauce in a small bowl. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.
  3. Mix the coating. In a shallow dish, combine the cornmeal, flour, salt, black pepper, cayenne, and garlic powder. Stir until evenly mixed.
  4. Heat the oil. Pour oil into a heavy skillet or Dutch oven to a depth of about 1 inch. Heat over medium-high heat until it reaches 350°F. A small pinch of cornmeal dropped in should sizzle immediately.
  5. Dredge and fry. Lift the fish strips from the buttermilk one at a time, letting the excess drip off, then press firmly into the cornmeal coating on all sides. Working in batches to avoid crowding, carefully lower the fish into the hot oil. Fry 3–4 minutes per side until the crust is deep golden and the fish flakes easily with a fork. Do not move the fish for the first 2 minutes so the crust sets properly.
  6. Drain. Transfer the fried fish to a paper bag or paper towel–lined plate to drain. Season lightly with salt while still hot.
  7. Assemble the tacos. Spread a spoonful of the slaw sauce onto each warm tortilla. Add a handful of cabbage, then top with 1–2 pieces of crispy fish. Finish with fresh cilantro and a squeeze of lime. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving, 2 tacos)

Calories: 480 | Protein: 34g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 44g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 620mg

Craig Hensley
About the cook who shared this
Craig Hensley
Week 60 of Craig’s 30-year story · Lexington, Kentucky
Craig is a retired coal miner from Harlan County, Kentucky — a man who spent twenty years underground and seventeen hours trapped in a collapsed tunnel before he was twenty-four. He moved his family to Lexington when the mine closed, learned to cook his mama Betty's Appalachian recipes from memory because she never wrote them down, and now he's trying to get them on paper before they're lost. He says "reckon" and "fixing to" and means both. His bourbon-glazed ribs are, according to his wife Connie, "acceptable" — which is the highest praise she gives.

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