Golden Catfish Fillets

Daylight saving ended. The dark at five-thirty PM. The kitchen the brightest room. Tuesday at the church. Bernice's Table fed eighty this week. The kitchen team handled it. I am the conductor and they are the orchestra and we are getting better every week.

Calvin preached Sunday on David and Goliath. The church said amen. I talked to Marcus this morning at the kitchen window with my coffee. I told him the kitchen was holding. He did not answer in words. He does not need to.

Oxtails Sunday. Browned. Slow-braised. Served over rice. The bone-in stew that holds the table.

I went to bed at ten. The kitchen was clean. The day was the day.

Calvin and I watched the news Wednesday evening. He fell asleep in the recliner. I covered him with the afghan that Bernice crocheted before she died. The afghan is holding.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. The Bible, then a book Doris sent me about the civil rights movement in Birmingham. The book made me think about Bernice in the church kitchen during the bombings.

Sister Patrice's husband had heart surgery this week. I drove a meal over Tuesday — chicken and rice, cornbread, peach cobbler. She cried at the door. I told her, baby, eat the food. The food was the saying.

I had a small cry Wednesday morning at the kitchen window. No reason in particular. The grief comes when it comes. I made coffee. I went on. That is how this works.

Mr. Henderson across the street brought me a bag of pecans Friday from his tree. I made a pecan pie with them. I took half of it back to him. He said, Loretta, this is wrong, you took my pecans and gave me back a pie. I said, that is exactly right. That is how it works.

Sunday after service Calvin and I drove past the new sanctuary site. The choir loft windows were going in. We sat in the car and looked. He did not speak. I did not speak. The watching was the prayer.

I drove to the grocery Saturday morning. Greens, three pounds. Onions, two big ones. Buttermilk, half gallon. Cornmeal, the good kind. Salt, because I always run out of salt.

My knees were bad this week. I sat between rounds at the stove. The volunteers tried to take the spoon. I would not let them. The spoon is not negotiable, sugar.

Doris called Thursday. Three times a week, the standard. We talked about Calvin's health. We talked about Harold's health. We talked about the family. We talked about what I was cooking.

I stood at the kitchen window with my coffee Tuesday morning. Six o'clock. The light just coming. The yard quiet. Talking to Mama about the day ahead. The talking is its own prayer, sugar.

A young woman from the new members class came to me Sunday. She was nervous. She said, Mother Simms, my husband and I are expecting our first and I do not know how to cook. I said, baby, come to the Saturday class. She said, I'm coming. The chain extends.

Calvin Jr. called Tuesday night. He was tired. He had been at work twelve hours. I told him, baby, eat something. He said, Mama, I will. I said, what did you eat last. He said, a granola bar. I said, baby, that is not eating. He laughed.

The garden in the side yard, sugar. The tomatoes are coming on. The okra is up. The collards are getting big. I will be canning by August. I always say I am not going to can. I always end up canning.

When I wrote down my grocery list Saturday morning — buttermilk, half gallon; cornmeal, the good kind — I already knew what those two things were for, even if the week had not quite told me yet. After the small cry at the window, after the meal I carried to Sister Patrice’s door, after Calvin asleep in the recliner under Bernice’s afghan, I needed a supper that did not ask anything of me. Golden catfish in a cast iron pan, cornmeal crust holding everything together — that is exactly the kind of quiet the end of a week like this one requires.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 catfish fillets (about 6 oz each)
1 cup buttermilk
1 cup yellow cornmeal, the good kind
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt, plus more to taste
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
Vegetable oil, for frying (about 1/2 inch depth in pan)
Lemon wedges, for serving

Instructions

Soak the fillets. Place catfish fillets in a shallow dish and pour buttermilk over them. Let soak for at least 10 minutes while you prepare the coating. This keeps the fish tender and helps the crust hold.
Mix the coating. In a wide, shallow bowl, whisk together the cornmeal, flour, salt, pepper, garlic powder, paprika, and cayenne until evenly combined.
Heat the oil. Pour vegetable oil into a large cast iron skillet to a depth of about 1/2 inch. Heat over medium-high until the oil shimmers and a pinch of cornmeal sizzles on contact, about 350°F.
Dredge the fish. Lift each fillet from the buttermilk, letting the excess drip off. Press both sides firmly into the cornmeal mixture until fully coated. Set on a plate while you finish the rest.
Fry until golden. Carefully lay fillets in the hot oil without crowding the pan. Fry 4 to 5 minutes per side, turning once, until the crust is deep golden and the fish flakes easily with a fork. Work in batches if needed.
Drain and rest. Transfer finished fillets to a wire rack set over a baking sheet, or to a plate lined with paper towels. Season with a little extra salt while still hot.
Serve. Plate with lemon wedges alongside. Collard greens and cornbread are the right companions, if you have them.

Nutrition (per serving)

Golden Catfish Fillets — The Cornmeal and Buttermilk Always in the Pantry