Well, it happened. I knew it would eventually, but I was holding out for as long as I could-- and today it happened. I ate catfish. Now that might not seem like a big thing to you, but you see, I was born and raised in Minnesota. We have (over) 10,000 sky blue lakes here in Minnesota so we eat fish—on a regular basis. Real regular. Seriously, people go out in little shacks on the lakes in the middle of winter to ice fish in 30 below weather. We take our fishing-- and our fish-- seriously here in Minnesota. Heck, when I was coming back from taking Grandma home, I saw a “Girls Nite Out” at the river. Every one of those ladies had a pole and was baiting her line! In Minnesota, the catfish and bullheads are “trash” fish. We call them “bottom feeders” and we don’t eat them. We eat sunfish and bass and walleye, of course. (We don’t usually eat perch—we are a bit snobbish about our fish up here.) But when I moved down South, well the pressure was enormous! I mean EVERY restaurant in the south serves catfish. And recipes abound for “fried catfish”. I hung on stubbornly to my Minnesotan disdain for those lowly bottom feeders—until today. And I’d have never eaten it except my uncles made it for me…. 

Now I don’t see my uncles often. One lives in Mobile, Alabama and the other lives in Southport, North Carolina. They come up to Minnesota every other year or so to visit their mother and fish. But they fish all the time in their home states… which means that they eat catfish…

Now a Minnesota fish fry is a thing to behold. It begins when the fishermen pull into the driveway. Everyone springs into action as we pull out the tables and top them with wooden boards. We get pails, knives and spoons (to scrape the fish scales off) together with pans full of water because everyone has to pitch in to clean those fish. When they rolled in, we all swung into action... but my uncles brought catfish. Not even bullheads… 

CATFISH.

 

THEY did the cleaning. I provided Toby Keith on the iPhone. (Good As I Once Was- for the catfish—implying, of course, that they’ve lost their mad fishing skills.) All they did was chuckle. And cleaned those fish. They filleted them after they skinned them. Did you know that there is a special tool called a catfish skinner? I found that out today, too. Big learning curve for me today, you betcha. 

Then I witnessed one of the most beautiful things, I have ever had the privilege to see. My uncle opened up the back of his Performance Racing Toyota Tundra (he’s the one from North Carolina, doncha know) and pulled out a Coleman stove, 2 pans, Crisco oil, batter, salt, pepper, paper plates, silverware, the cooking fork and a spatula and was set up for frying in about 5 minutes. 

Why, he even set up a gas grill and grilled a few of those catfish! 

I was astounded at his efficiency and his self-sufficiency. I just had to ask why he even bothered to go home. My other uncle (from Mobile) grunted in agreement but I guess Uncle John loves his wife and family…. Heck, you wouldn’t see me for a good long time… So while I ran around photo documenting all of this as my uncles cooked and cooked. 

Now, how may I ask, was I going to refuse to taste their work with any kind of manners or respect? I have my morals but I am not a cruel person so I did what any good niece would do, I ate catfish.

 

You know, it was pretty good.