Fried Tuna Patties

Thanksgiving. The Mountain View table: Lourdes, Angela (enormous, due in six weeks, the belly preceding her into every room like a diplomatic envoy), James, Pete, and me. Five people and a belly. The table was full in the way that matters — not full of people but full of purpose, full of food, full of the particular Santos Thanksgiving energy that says: we are here. We are eating. We are grateful. The grateful is not abstract — it's in the lechon kawali, in the pancit, in the three hundred lumpia that Lourdes made because the number doesn't change for pandemics or pregnancies or any other circumstance.

Pete ate four servings. Lourdes monitored him with approval. "This one eats," she said, as if Pete's appetite were a character trait she'd been evaluating and he'd passed the test. In the Santos household, appetite is character. To eat is to participate. To eat four servings is to excel.

Joseph called from Kodiak. He and Suki had Thanksgiving on Joseph's new boat — his boat, bought and paid for, the thirty-two-footer that represents years of work and a check from his ate that he finally cashed. The boat's name: the "Lourdes Marie," after his mother. Lourdes cried when she heard the name. She cried into the phone. She cried into the lumpia. The crying was the loudest thing in the room, which is saying something because the room contained five adults, a baby in utero, and three hundred lumpia frying in oil.

I made Reynaldo's salmon sinigang that evening. The Thanksgiving memorial. The recipe for the absent. One more squeeze. For Papa. For the man whose grandson named a boat after the woman he loved. The family continues. The recipes continue. The squeezing continues.

Reynaldo’s salmon sinigang is a recipe I return to every Thanksgiving — it’s his, and the ritual of making it is the point. But on ordinary evenings, when I want that same feeling of feeding people something honest and from the sea, I reach for these Fried Tuna Patties. They’re nothing like sinigang, and that’s fine — they’re their own quiet thing, crisp on the outside and soft inside, the kind of dish that asks nothing of you except that you show up and eat. In a family where appetite is character, that’s more than enough.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 cans (5 oz each) tuna in water, drained well
1/2 cup plain breadcrumbs, plus more for coating
1 large egg, beaten
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 tablespoons finely diced yellow onion
1 tablespoon finely diced celery
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon salt, or to taste
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped (optional)
3 tablespoons vegetable oil, for frying
Lemon wedges, for serving

Instructions

Combine the mixture. In a medium bowl, flake the drained tuna thoroughly with a fork. Add breadcrumbs, egg, mayonnaise, onion, celery, mustard, garlic powder, paprika, salt, pepper, and parsley if using. Mix until well combined — the mixture should hold together when pressed.
Form the patties. Divide the mixture into 8 equal portions and shape each into a round patty about 1/2 inch thick. Press gently but firmly so they hold their shape. If the mixture feels too loose, refrigerate for 10 minutes before forming.
Coat in breadcrumbs. Place a small amount of breadcrumbs on a plate. Press each patty lightly into the breadcrumbs on both sides to form a thin, even crust.
Heat the oil. Warm vegetable oil in a large skillet over medium heat until shimmering, about 2 minutes. The oil should be hot enough that a breadcrumb dropped in sizzles immediately.
Fry the patties. Working in batches to avoid crowding, cook patties 3 to 4 minutes per side until deep golden brown and crisp. Do not press them down while cooking. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate.
Serve. Serve hot with lemon wedges and your choice of tartar sauce, hot sauce, or a simple side salad.

Nutrition (per serving)

Fried Tuna Patties — A Simple Offering for the Table and the Absent