Fried Fish Nuggets

Hanukkah begins Thursday and I am in full latke production mode, which is a state of being that involves: five pounds of russet potatoes, two large onions, a box grater (I refuse the food processor; a food processor produces latke batter, not latkes — the texture is wrong, the shred is wrong, the entire ethos is wrong), a cast-iron skillet that I've had since 1985, and enough vegetable oil to alarm a cardiologist. The latke station is set up on the kitchen counter — grater, bowl, towels for squeezing the liquid out of the potatoes, the skillet heating on the stove. This is my battle station. This is where I fight the darkness. With potatoes and oil and fire.

Marvin watches me make latkes. He has watched me make latkes for thirty-eight years — he used to help, he used to grate, he used to stand next to me at the stove and flip them with the spatula and burn his fingers and swear mildly and eat them faster than I could fry them. Now he watches. He sits at the kitchen table and watches the way you watch a fire — not for information but for warmth, for the hypnotic quality of something happening, something familiar, something that smells like every December he's ever known. I don't know if he remembers making latkes. I think his body remembers. His body leans forward when the oil sizzles. His nose lifts when the first one hits the pan. He is responding to stimuli that predate the disease, that live in the sensory cortex, in the olfactory nerve, in the parts of the brain that store not facts but feelings, and the feeling of latkes is: home, winter, candles, us.

I lit the first candle Thursday evening. One candle plus the shamash, the helper candle. The dining room was dim and the candle was bright and Marvin sat across from me and watched the flame and I said the blessings and we ate latkes — hot, crispy, served with sour cream and applesauce — and the latkes were perfect, because they are always perfect, because Sylvia's recipe does not fail, because some things in this world are reliable, and latkes are one of them, and I am another.

By the fourth night, the oil has become its own presence in the kitchen — its shimmer, its sound, the way it announces readiness. Sylvia’s latkes will carry us through all eight nights, but I always save one evening to do something different with that same hot, patient skillet: these fried fish nuggets, golden and crisp in exactly the way that makes Marvin’s nose lift the same way it does for the potatoes. The ritual is not the recipe — the ritual is the fire, the oil, and the person sitting at the table waiting for something warm to arrive.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 lb white fish fillets (cod or tilapia), cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp paprika
1/2 tsp onion powder
1/2 tsp salt, plus more for seasoning
1/4 tsp black pepper
2 large eggs, beaten
1 cup plain breadcrumbs
Vegetable oil, for frying (about 1/2 inch depth in skillet)
Lemon wedges and tartar sauce or hot sauce, for serving

Instructions

Dry the fish. Pat the fish pieces thoroughly dry with paper towels and season lightly with salt and pepper on all sides. Moisture is the enemy of a crispy crust.
Set up your breading station. In one shallow bowl, whisk together the flour, garlic powder, paprika, onion powder, 1/2 tsp salt, and black pepper. Place the beaten eggs in a second bowl and the breadcrumbs in a third.
Bread each piece. Working one piece at a time, dredge the fish in the seasoned flour and shake off the excess. Dip it fully in the beaten egg, then press it firmly into the breadcrumbs, turning to coat all sides evenly.
Heat the oil. Pour vegetable oil into a cast-iron skillet to a depth of about 1/2 inch. Heat over medium-high until a breadcrumb dropped in sizzles immediately — around 350°F to 375°F.
Fry in batches. Add nuggets in a single layer without crowding. Fry for 3 to 4 minutes per side, turning once, until deep golden brown and cooked through. Crowding the pan drops the oil temperature and produces steam instead of crust — give them space.
Drain and serve. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate and season immediately with a pinch of salt. Serve hot with lemon wedges and your dipping sauce of choice. They wait for no one.

Nutrition (per serving)

Fried Fish Nuggets — Because the Oil Is Already Hot and the Love Is Already There