By The State Fair in full swing — fried Oreos, the world's biggest cabbage, the carousel. Three twelve-hour shifts this week. The body holding.
Lourdes is 75. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one. Joseph and Suki sent photos of the kids this week.
I made lumpia Saturday. Sixty rolls. I delivered some to Lourdes. The rest went into the freezer for the week.
The blog post this week was about kitchen rituals at Anchorage latitudes. It got six hundred comments.
The week held. The kitchen held. The chain holds.
The grocery store had no calamansi. I substituted lime. The substitution was acceptable. The acceptable is the working version of perfect.
The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.
I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.
Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.
I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.
I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.
The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.
A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.
Angela texted me a photo of the kids. I texted back a heart. The exchange took thirty seconds. The thirty seconds was the keeping.
I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.
The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.
The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.
The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.
I had a long phone call with Dr. Reeves on Wednesday. We talked about pacing and rest and the way the body keeps a log of what it has carried. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The body remembers. The mind forgets. The cooking is the bridge." I wrote the line down. The line is now on a sticky note above the kitchen sink.
Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.
Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.
The salmon in my freezer — August’s catch, Joseph’s handwriting on the bag, “for Grace” — is still waiting for next week, and I am letting it wait because some things deserve a moment of intention before you open them. But the thought of it put me in the mood for fish anyway: battered, fried, set beside crisp fries, eaten at the kitchen table after a week of twelve-hour shifts and lumpia deliveries and Lourdes calling twice and the Anchorage sky being exactly the Anchorage sky. Fish and fries is not complicated. This week, uncomplicated was the exactly right thing.
Fish and Fries
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 1/2 lbs firm white fish fillets (cod, halibut, or salmon), cut into 4–5 oz portions
- 1 cup all-purpose flour, divided
- 1 tsp baking powder
- 1 tsp kosher salt, plus more for seasoning
- 1/2 tsp black pepper
- 1/2 tsp garlic powder
- 1 cup cold sparkling water or cold light beer
- 4 large russet potatoes, scrubbed and cut into 1/4-inch fries
- Vegetable oil, for frying (about 4 cups)
- Malt vinegar and tartar sauce, for serving
Instructions
- Soak the fries. Place cut potatoes in a large bowl of cold water and soak for at least 10 minutes. This draws out starch and helps them crisp. Drain and pat thoroughly dry with a clean towel.
- Heat the oil. Pour oil into a deep heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven to a depth of about 3 inches. Heat over medium-high to 325°F. Set a wire rack over a baking sheet nearby.
- Blanch the fries. Working in batches, fry the potatoes at 325°F for 4–5 minutes until just cooked through but not yet golden. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on the rack. Do not crowd the pot.
- Make the batter. In a medium bowl, whisk together 3/4 cup flour, baking powder, salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Add the cold sparkling water (or beer) and stir until just combined — a few lumps are fine. Do not overmix. Place the remaining 1/4 cup flour in a shallow dish.
- Raise the oil temperature. Increase oil heat to 375°F.
- Finish the fries. Return the blanched fries to the 375°F oil in batches and fry for 3–4 minutes until deep golden and crisp. Drain on the rack, season immediately with salt.
- Batter and fry the fish. Pat fish portions dry. Dredge each piece in the plain flour, shake off the excess, then dip fully into the batter, letting the excess drip off. Carefully lower into the 375°F oil and fry for 4–5 minutes, turning once, until the batter is golden and the fish flakes easily. Fry in batches to maintain oil temperature. Drain on the rack.
- Serve. Plate fish alongside fries. Serve immediately with malt vinegar and tartar sauce.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 530 | Protein: 33g | Fat: 21g | Carbs: 52g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 690mg