Martin Luther King Jr. Day. No classes. I spent the day with Keisha at her grandmother's house, which is where I would spend every day if logistics allowed.
Keisha's grandmother — Mrs. Evelyn Harris, though everyone calls her Miss Evvie — cooks like she's feeding the congregation even when it's just the two of us at her kitchen table. Today she made fried catfish, collard greens, macaroni and cheese (the baked kind, with eggs and evaporated milk that makes it custard-like and rich), and cornbread, and she set it all out on the table at noon like it was Sunday dinner.
'It IS Sunday dinner,' she said. 'It's the Lord's day.' (It was Monday, but Miss Evvie operates on her own calendar and you don't argue.)
The catfish was perfect — cornmeal-crusted, fried in a cast iron skillet (Miss Evvie's is older than my mother's, seasoned by three generations of Harris women), golden and crispy with that flaky white interior that good catfish should have. The collard greens had been braised with a ham hock for hours — they were silky, slightly bitter, deeply savory. The mac and cheese was the kind that makes you close your eyes.
I asked Miss Evvie about her recipes and she gave me the same answer she gave me about the sweet potato pie: 'Come to my kitchen and I'll show you. I don't write it down.' So I watched. I sat at her kitchen table and watched her hands — hands that have been cooking since before my mother was born — and I tried to memorize the way she tests oil temperature (a pinch of cornmeal; if it sizzles immediately, the oil is ready), the way she seasons collard greens (taste, taste again, then 'a little more salt'), the way she folds cheese into macaroni ('gently, baby, don't break the noodles').
Miss Evvie and Mom cook from the same philosophy even though their food is different — the philosophy of enough. Not too much, not too little. Enough salt, enough butter, enough heat, enough time. Enough to feed the people you love without waste. Enough to make a meal that feels like abundance even when the ingredients are humble.
Keisha and I sat on Miss Evvie's porch after lunch, full and happy, and talked about nothing important. She's thinking about specializing in pediatric nursing. I'm thinking about the fact that I still don't know what I want to be. She said, 'You'll figure it out. You always land on your feet.' Which is the nicest thing anyone can say to a military kid. We always land on our feet. Because we've been landing on our feet since we were old enough to walk.
The catfish was extraordinary. Miss Evvie is extraordinary. The company was extraordinary. Some days don't need to be productive. They just need to be full.
Miss Evvie’s catfish stayed with me long after Keisha and I said our goodbyes—not just the taste, but what it represented: a meal made with the philosophy of enough, served with love, shared between people who matter. I couldn’t recreate her exact recipe, but I didn’t want to. What I wanted was to carry that spirit into my own kitchen, to make something humble and honest that could feel like abundance. This New England fish fry is my version—same simplicity, same intention.
New England Fish Fry
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 2 lbs catfish fillets (or other white fish fillets), cut into serving pieces
- 1 cup yellow cornmeal
- 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
- 1 teaspoon black pepper
- 1 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
- 1/2 teaspoon paprika
- 1 cup buttermilk
- 1 egg
- Vegetable oil or lard, for frying (about 1 inch deep in skillet)
- Lemon wedges, for serving
- Hot sauce, for serving (optional)
Instructions
- Soak the fish. Place the fish fillets in a shallow dish and pour buttermilk over them. Add the egg and stir gently to combine. Let the fish soak for at least 10 minutes (or up to 1 hour in the refrigerator) to tenderize and flavor the flesh.
- Mix the coating. In a separate shallow dish, whisk together the cornmeal, flour, salt, pepper, garlic powder, cayenne, and paprika until evenly combined.
- Heat the oil. Pour oil into a cast iron skillet to a depth of about 1 inch. Heat over medium-high heat. To test readiness, drop a small pinch of cornmeal into the oil — if it sizzles immediately and floats to the surface, the oil is ready (around 350°F).
- Dredge the fillets. Lift each piece of fish from the buttermilk, letting the excess drip off, then press it firmly into the cornmeal coating on both sides. Set coated pieces aside on a clean plate.
- Fry in batches. Carefully lay fish pieces into the hot oil without crowding the skillet. Fry for 3 to 4 minutes per side, until deeply golden and crispy. The fish is done when it flakes easily at the thickest part. Remove to a wire rack or paper towel—lined plate and season immediately with a pinch of salt.
- Keep warm and serve. Hold finished pieces in a 200°F oven while you fry remaining batches. Serve hot with lemon wedges and hot sauce alongside.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 420 | Protein: 34g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 34g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 680mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 43 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.
