Fried Fish Sandwich

Brianna's week. Plant was steady. I cooked for myself most nights. Tuesday I made a stir-fry — I've been trying to expand my repertoire beyond Detroit comfort food. Marinated chicken thighs in soy sauce, ginger, garlic, sesame oil, and a little sugar. Cut into bite size. Stir-fried in a screaming hot wok (well, a screaming hot cast iron skillet, since I don't own a wok) with broccoli, red bell pepper, carrots, snap peas. Added a sauce at the end — soy, oyster sauce, rice vinegar, a little cornstarch slurry to thicken. Served over jasmine rice. It was good. Not great. The vegetables were a little overcooked. The sauce was a little too sweet. I'll iterate. Mama always said you don't learn a dish in one cook. You learn it over ten cooks. I'm on cook one of stir-fry.

Thursday I drove to Livernois with Jerome to look at the storefront he'd mentioned. Just to look. I told myself that. The storefront was at Six Mile and Livernois — small, maybe twelve hundred square feet, with a kitchen in the back that needed everything and a dining room that needed everything else. It had been a barbershop in a previous life, and before that a sandwich place. The landlord, a man named Mr. Hayes who looked about seventy and tired, met us there with the keys. He talked about the neighborhood like it was finally coming back. He was hopeful in a way that made me want to believe him.

The rent was twelve hundred a month. The buildout would cost — I don't know, maybe fifty thousand minimum, probably more. Equipment, hood vent, walk-in cooler, tables, chairs, signage, permits, licenses, insurance. The math made my chest tight. Jerome and I drove away in silence. Halfway home he said, "What do you think?" I said, "I think it's a lot of money." He said, "It's a lot of risk. But it's also a lot of food." I drove the rest of the way home thinking about it.

Friday at the plant I worked an extra two hours and made fifty bucks in OT. Stuck the whole fifty into the savings account at lunch. Whatever I'm doing, I'm going to need every dollar. Whether it's a restaurant or just a bigger BBQ pad, the answer is always: more savings.

Saturday Darius came over and we walked the yard one more time before the concrete pour next weekend. He brought a level and a tape measure. We staked the corners more precisely. Eight feet by ten feet. He said the ground would still be a little soft from the thaw, so we'd dig down four inches and put a base of gravel under the concrete. He'd done this before. I trusted him. We sat on the back porch afterward and I made him a steak. He ate it and said, "Brother, you do not need to open a restaurant. You need to feed me three nights a week and call it a day." I laughed. I didn't tell him about the storefront. Some seeds you keep in the dark for a while longer.

Sunday at Mama's. She made pot roast. Chuck roast slow-braised in the oven for four hours with onions, carrots, potatoes, celery, garlic, and a little red wine and beef broth. Falls apart with a fork. The gravy on the mashed potatoes is what dreams are made of. Pop ate two helpings. Cheryl let him.

Sunday at Mama’s will do that to you — sitting around her table with a plate of pot roast that took four hours to earn, you remember that Detroit comfort food isn’t something you expand beyond, it’s something you build on. I’m on cook one of stir-fry, and the storefront math is still tight in my chest, but some things don’t need iteration — a proper fried fish sandwich is one of them. This is the recipe I keep coming back to when I need to feel grounded.

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

Ingredients

4 white fish fillets (cod, catfish, or tilapia), about 6 oz each
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup yellow cornmeal
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon onion powder
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 cup buttermilk
1 egg
Vegetable oil, for frying (about 2 cups)
4 soft sandwich buns or hoagie rolls, toasted
Shredded iceberg lettuce
Sliced tomato
Sliced dill pickles
Tartar sauce or hot sauce, to serve

Instructions

Set up the dredge. In a shallow bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, garlic powder, onion powder, smoked paprika, cayenne, salt, and black pepper. In a second shallow bowl, whisk together the buttermilk and egg until combined.
Dredge the fish. Pat the fish fillets dry with paper towels. Dip each fillet into the buttermilk mixture, letting the excess drip off, then press firmly into the seasoned flour-cornmeal mixture, coating both sides thoroughly. Set aside on a wire rack for 5 minutes so the coating adheres.
Heat the oil. Pour vegetable oil into a large, heavy-bottomed skillet (cast iron works great) to a depth of about 1/2 inch. Heat over medium-high until the oil reaches 350°F, or until a pinch of flour dropped in sizzles immediately.
Fry the fish. Working in batches to avoid crowding, carefully lower the fillets into the hot oil. Fry for 3–4 minutes per side, until deep golden brown and the fish flakes easily at the thickest part. Transfer to a wire rack or paper-towel-lined plate. Season lightly with a pinch of salt while still hot.
Toast the buns. While the fish drains, toast the buns cut-side down in a dry skillet over medium heat for 1–2 minutes until lightly golden.
Assemble. Spread tartar sauce or hot sauce on both sides of each bun. Layer shredded lettuce and sliced tomato on the bottom bun, top with a fried fish fillet, add pickles, and close with the top bun. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Fried Fish Sandwich — Detroit Comfort Food Done Right