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Crumb Coated Cod Fillets -- When the Week Holds and Dinner Doesn't Have to Be Complicated

Brianna's week. Sweater weather Wednesday. First fire of the year on the porch. Tuesday was a long shift — second-shift overlap on a build target. Cleared it.

Pop's tireder. Sugar runs low some days. Mama monitors. Pop complains. The system holds. Sunday at Mama's. She made greens with hambone the way she has since 1985.

Whole roast chicken Sunday. Compound butter under the skin. Lemon and herbs in the cavity. Easiest impressive dinner there is.

Aiden's 11. The youth basketball league. I'm coaching. He's the best player on the team and he knows it. Zaria's 9. Helps me cook on a step stool. Has opinions about the seasoning.

I called Mama Sunday night. She picked up on the second ring. She always picks up.

A catering inquiry came in this week — fifty-person family reunion. Booked. Saturday after next.

Pop sat in the recliner Sunday. He fell asleep before the third quarter. We covered him with a blanket.

The Lions on TV Sunday. Lost on a missed field goal. Detroit. The neighborhood collectively groaned at the same moment. You could hear it through the windows.

The basketball court at the rec center got refurbished. New floor. Plays different. Bouncy. I shot a few from the elbow before practice Wednesday. The knee held. The shot fell short.

A reader wrote in about the smothered pork chops. Said her late husband loved them. I wrote back. I told her about Pop. We exchanged three emails. She's in Saginaw. She's coming to the city in the spring.

The kids next door knocked over my trash cans Tuesday night. Their dad made them help me clean up Wednesday morning. Good man. The kids apologized. I gave them each a Capri Sun. Cycle complete.

The custody calendar holds. Aiden and Zaria alternate weeks. Brianna and I co-parent without drama now. We do not always have to like each other to do this right.

Aiden had practice Tuesday and Thursday. I drove. He shot threes for an hour after.

A neighbor down the street gave me a tomato plant Saturday. He grows them on his porch. Said he had extra. I put it next to the back step where it gets the afternoon sun. Detroit gardens are improvised victories.

Filled the propane tank Wednesday. The smoker is the only appliance I baby. Wiped it down. Checked the gaskets. Checked the temperature gauge. The smoker is mine the way Pop's torque wrench was his.

I made grocery lists on the back of envelopes the way Mama did. The list this week was short — onions, garlic, half-and-half, cornmeal, a pound of bacon. The list is the recipe of the week before it happens.

I took a walk around the block Sunday morning. The neighborhood was quiet. The trees were the trees. The light was good. I waved at three porches. The porches waved back. Brookline holds.

A song came on the radio Tuesday — old Stevie Wonder — and I had to sit in the truck for the rest of it before I went into the store. Some songs do that. Detroit is a city of songs that do that.

The drive home Friday was the long way around. I took Outer Drive past the lake. The water was still. I do not always notice the water. I noticed Friday.

The block had a small drama Tuesday. Somebody parked in front of Ms. Diane's driveway. Ms. Diane addressed it directly. The car moved within the hour. The neighborhood polices itself on small things.

Watched the Tigers Sunday afternoon. Lost in extras. Detroit reflex. I yelled at the TV the way Pop used to yell at the TV. The TV did not respond. The bullpen will probably not respond either.

The chicken on Sunday was the showpiece — compound butter, lemon, herbs, the whole production — but most nights this week the goal was simpler: get something good on the table, let the kids eat, let the house settle. Crumb coated cod is exactly that kind of dinner. Zaria helped press the breadcrumbs on with both hands, had opinions about the seasoning (she always does), and the whole thing was in the oven before the news came on. Some recipes carry a week. This one carried a Tuesday.

Crumb Coated Cod Fillets

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 4 cod fillets (about 6 oz each)
  • 3/4 cup plain breadcrumbs
  • 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
  • 1 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1 teaspoon onion powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil or melted butter
  • 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
  • 1 tablespoon mayonnaise
  • Lemon wedges, for serving
  • Fresh parsley, chopped, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

  1. Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 400°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or lightly grease it with cooking spray.
  2. Mix the crumb coating. In a shallow bowl, combine the breadcrumbs, Parmesan, garlic powder, onion powder, smoked paprika, salt, and black pepper. Drizzle in the olive oil or melted butter and toss until the crumbs are evenly moistened.
  3. Prepare the fish. Pat the cod fillets dry with paper towels. In a small bowl, stir together the Dijon mustard and mayonnaise. Brush a thin layer of the mustard mixture over the top of each fillet — this helps the crumbs adhere and keeps the fish moist.
  4. Coat the fillets. Press the breadcrumb mixture firmly onto the top of each fillet, covering it in an even layer. Place the coated fillets on the prepared baking sheet.
  5. Bake until golden. Bake for 18–22 minutes, until the crumb topping is golden brown and the fish flakes easily with a fork. Thicker fillets may need a few extra minutes.
  6. Serve. Transfer to plates and serve immediately with lemon wedges for squeezing over the top. Garnish with fresh parsley if desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 36g | Fat: 11g | Carbs: 14g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 480mg

DeShawn Carter
About the cook who shared this
DeShawn Carter
Week 550 of DeShawn’s 30-year story · Detroit, Michigan
DeShawn is a thirty-six-year-old single dad, auto plant worker, and a man who didn't learn to cook until his wife left and his five-year-old asked, "Daddy, can you cook something?" He called his mama, who came over with two bags of groceries and spent six months teaching him the basics. Now he's the dad at the cookout who brings the ribs, the guy at the plant whose leftover gumbo starts fights, and living proof that it's never too late to learn.

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