“So, I’m thinking about writing an article about that catfish recipe, remember that?”
“You’re going to do it again???”
“Heck No! I said write about it, not do it!”
That is how this next article is going to begin, we shall call it...
“Catfish in a Paper Bag.”
I’ve included photos because no one believed me when I told them about the catfish in a bag recipe. Everybody laughed.
It was real.
& this was how it happened…
When the Farmer & I were dating I decided to woo him with my wonderful cooking skills.
Did I say wonderful? Oops. That must’ve been a typo.
I pulled out my new cookbook that I had bought in Savannah. I flipped through it and saw a recipe that seemed easy, had a nice photo and would make any Southern man fall in love. Catfish in a Bag.
Seems Legit Enough.
I followed the recipe as closely as I possibly could and I thought I did well. It sure did smell good. The aroma of the fish and lemon engulfed my kitchen and my grandmother walked in, before she could even leave the kitchen I was pulling the catfish out. “Hold on! How long did you cook that for?” I turned to her, “Ten minutes.”
My grandmother’s jaw dropped, “Uh-uh. That fish ain’t done. Fish don’t cook in ten minutes. Put it back in there.”
I tried to explain to her how catfish cooks in a bag even though I seemed a little baffled myself, “It’s in a bag so it cooks like popcorn. It’s done. I don’t want to overcook it!”
Back then, I didn’t really eat fish so I told her, “Try some of this fish and tell me if it’s done.”
“Oh no! I know it ain’t done! You better not feed that to him!”
“C’mon. Please? How will I know if it’s done or not?”
After some persuasion, she finally gave in and tried a piece of this catfish.
Have you ever seen a seventy-something-year-old woman run as fast as she can to the trashcan and literally scrape food off her tongue?
Yeah, it happened.
I had such a straight face and just stared at her, “You’re so overly dramatic.” I took a fork and took a bite of the fish. I forced a “Mmmm. Good.”
My grandmother looked at me, “Spit that nasty stuff out. I’m frying the rest of this. Don’t you do that recipe no more.” I forced myself to swallow that raw fish. “It tastes fine to me.”
My grandmother looked at me and laughed. Of course, she fried some fish while I got sick for a little while and cried in my bathtub while drinking Hawaiian punch. I was a little pathetic, I know.
When the Farmer arrived we ate fried catfish and laughed about the catfish in a bag story. To this day it is still one of the funniest cooking fails I’ve ever had to happen to me… Except for the time, I cooked for a class of first graders, but that’s another story for another day.
So, now that I have written this and had a good laugh about it for the millionth time, I can't help but to wonder, did it really say 10 minutes or did I miss something? 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
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