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Pan Fried Breaded Trout — The Skillet, the Garden, and the Same Woman

June, and the summer opens with the generous heat that the Lowcountry brings to everything it does. The retirement has been in effect for a year, and the year has taught me what the library years could not: that the woman at the stove and the woman at the desk are the same woman, and the same woman has been waiting for fifty-four years to do what she is doing now — writing, cooking, living the life that combines the two into a single art, a single practice, a single love.

The Librarian's Table is one hundred and thirty pages. The manuscript is becoming the book, the way all manuscripts become books: slowly, chapter by chapter, the way all meals become dinners: ingredient by ingredient, the way all lives become stories: week by week.

Robert and I have settled into the deep retirement rhythm — the rhythm of two people who have been together for twenty-eight years and who have discovered, in the daily companionship of retirement, that the companionship is the marriage's richest phase: not the passion of the beginning, not the crisis of the middle, but the ease of the end, which is not an end but a deepening, and the deepening is the love.

I made fried okra — the summer essential, the cast-iron pods, the Lowcountry's answer to everything the season produces. The okra was from Robert's garden. The frying was in Mama's skillet. The combination was the marriage and the inheritance in one pan.

The okra was Robert’s and the skillet was Mama’s, and on the evenings when the garden gives more than one thing to work with, I turn to the skillet again — this time for trout, breaded simply and fried until the crust goes gold and the kitchen fills with the kind of smell that makes a house feel fully lived in. Pan fried breaded trout is the same philosophy as everything else on this table: good sourcing, honest heat, one pan, and the patience that retirement has finally, gratefully, given me.

Pan Fried Breaded Trout

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 12 minutes | Total Time: 22 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 4 trout fillets (about 6 oz each), skin on or off
  • 3/4 cup fine yellow cornmeal
  • 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
  • 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1/4 teaspoon paprika
  • 1 egg
  • 2 tablespoons whole milk
  • 3 tablespoons vegetable oil or bacon drippings
  • Lemon wedges and fresh parsley, for serving

Instructions

  1. Prepare the breading. In a shallow dish, combine the cornmeal, flour, salt, pepper, garlic powder, and paprika. In a separate shallow dish, whisk together the egg and milk until combined.
  2. Coat the fillets. Pat the trout fillets dry with paper towels. Dip each fillet into the egg wash, letting the excess drip off, then press firmly into the cornmeal mixture to coat both sides evenly.
  3. Heat the skillet. Warm a large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Add the oil or bacon drippings and heat until shimmering but not smoking, about 2 minutes.
  4. Fry the trout. Place the coated fillets in the skillet without crowding. Fry for 4 to 5 minutes on the first side until the crust is deep golden and releases cleanly from the pan. Flip carefully and cook 3 to 4 minutes more until the fish flakes easily at the thickest point.
  5. Drain and rest. Transfer the fillets to a wire rack or paper-towel-lined plate. Let rest for 2 minutes before serving.
  6. Serve. Plate with lemon wedges and a scatter of fresh parsley. A side of sliced summer tomatoes or simply cooked greens from the garden rounds the meal.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 370 | Protein: 36g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 18g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 480mg

Naomi Blackwood
About the cook who shared this
Naomi Blackwood
Week 404 of Naomi’s 30-year story · Charleston, South Carolina
Naomi is a retired librarian from Charleston who spent thirty-one years putting books in people's hands and now spends her days putting her mother's Lowcountry recipes on paper before they're lost. She survived her husband's affair, her father's sudden death, and the long goodbye of her mother's final years. She cooks she-crab soup in a bowl that Carolyn brought from Beaufort, and in every spoonful you can taste the marsh and the memory and the grace of a woman who chose to stay and rebuild.

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