The Catfish Will Rise Again - Recap

Alton sorts through some old belongings. Some are unitaskers and others were free gifts. One very old laptop gets a ninety-nine cents price tag! Then he finds an old fishing rod, which as a child he kept in the carport. That let him sneak off after school unbeknownst to his mother. He'd gather worms on his way to the river, plopping down there for a few hours that usually yielded several catfish. As Alton's mind recalls those days, his chair suddenly hurtles backwards and he finds himself on the banks of a river, fishing pole still in hand. He knows he's supposed to be at work, but can't resist casting his line, and sure enough he quickly snares a channel catfish! When he was a boy he knew only one way to prepare such a catfish: deep fat frying. But he has grown and traveled and learned, and now he knows that just a little coaxing from the cook will turn this fish into... Good Eats.

Catfish, Alton explains, are unique compared to other freshwater fish. They have whiskers, actually called barbels, that serve them as feelers and antennae to report their environment. And their skin has no scales – it is smooth and coated with a thin slime that protects its taste buds! Yes, indeed: catfish can taste things that contact their its. They also drink through their skin. Alton returns his specimen to the river and prepares to catch another, a task he's sure his superior fishing skills will make easy.

The catfish has a reputation for muddy flavor. This unfortunate reputation does not owe entirely to drinking through its skin. In part it is due to where most of those catfish came from: muddy holes and silty rivers. Alton has once again snared a fish, a tribute to his skill – or is it? As the view mans, the viewer learns why: Alton is fishing at a catfish farm! Catfish aquaculture is a rare case where good economics, good ecology and good eats all meet.

Farm raised catfish are sustainable for a number of reasons: they live in precisely controlled conditions and they convert their food at a respectable ratio of 1.8, meaning it takes just 1.8 pounds of food to produce one pound of fish. And unlike tuna and some other food fish, they don't mind crowding – which means they don't need a lot of medication to force them to reach a marketable weight. They're sweet, firm, and versatile – much like chicken, prompting Alton to propose calling them “chicken of the pond.” Fishery catfish are taught to feed on the surface, which makes harvesting them simple: a net gathers the fish and transfers them to a live haul truck, a sort of rolling aquarium that takes them to the processing plant.

From a food store fish counter, Alton continues: most folks do their fish shopping at a food store or at a fresh fish store if they are lucky enough to live near a good one. Crouching behind the display, Alton enumerates the ways stores offer farmed catfish to their customers: whole with skin on (but heads and guts removed), whole with the skin off, and fillets in various weight ranges from three ounces on up to eleven ounces, with seven to nine ounce fillets the most common. Alton chooses fillets in the seven to nine ounce range for his meal today. And, by the way: water-glazed and continuously frozen catfish are fine, but avoid fish frozen for transport and then thawed at the point of sale. Purchase fish raised in the United States – Asian catfish are not the same species, and in addition may be raised in ways that would raise the hairs on the back of your neck.

Alton has two catfish fillets in his kitchen, so now it is time to consider his culinary options. He pulls down a large page that reads, “Fry That Catfish!” Sure, that's a southern standard, but it's... expected. Alton wants to break away from stereotypes; to do so he goes even further south, to South America. There, white and firm fish isn't cooked at all, but marinated with lime, herbs and chilies, and then served (sometimes with bits of vegetables) as a dish called ceviche (or in some places, cebiche). Because the fish in this dish are raw, one must use the firmest, freshest fish – and in North America farm raised catfish fill that bill nicely! Plus, the dish is a good choice for those who fear cooking fish.

Alton grabs a latex glove and a very sharp, thin knife. With this he cuts his fish into inch and a half strips and then gathers these and cross-cuts them to produce inch and a half cubes. Those go into a large zip top bag while Alton prepares the citrus: limes and grapefruit. Alton grates off some zest (carefully avoiding the bitter pith) and squeezes some juice, filtering the grapefruit juice to remove most of the pulp. All that goes into the bag with the fish, and that bag into the refrigerator for about six hours. He turns it a couple of times to ensure an even coating. And the leftover juice? That goes into Alton's mouth – waste not, want not.

The juice contains acids that alter the surface proteins, firming the flesh and turning it opaque. At this point, Alton's lawyers Itchy and Twitchy appear. It seems that some chefs call this “cooking” when it isn't, and the lawyers insist on a full disclosure of the hazards of ceviche. The acid generally kills all surface bacteria, but there is no way to be sure this has happened, despite Alton's having eaten ceviche many times without ill-effect.

Alton next prepares the salad: jalapeño chili, red onion, tomato, garlic, cilantro leaves, fresh oregano, and (peeled) avocado get diced and combined in a large bowl with some extra virgin olive oil, cumin, turbinado sugar and kosher salt. When the fish has marinaded, Alton adds that to the salad and tosses to coat it, saving the remaining marinade for later. These flavors need about another thirty minutes in the refrigerator to “get to know each other.” Ceviche makes excellent dip, or may be served in a margarita glass. In Ecuador, people garnish with corn nuts. South Americans call the leftover marinade leche de tigre or tiger's milk, and regard it as as a fine hangover cure!

When Alton asks for opinions of this dish, a sign pops into view: fry that catfish! He's standing firm, however, that this will not happen. Instead he goes south again – this time to Southeast Asia and the nation of Thailand, whose people make a catfish and coconut soup called tom kha pladuk. It tastes delicious, and since they have very large catfish...

Someone is knocking on Alton's door. When he asks who it is, a low voice answers, “plumber” but Alton did not call one. The voice then says he has a “candy gram” but Alton has given up candy. Finally, the voice claims to be the “Nobel Prize committee.” It's about time, Alton exclaims, but when he opens the door a huge catfish puppet devours him!

Well, not really – it was a dramatization meant to show the size of the catfish that grow in that part of the world: at least the size of a man, some of them. American cooks won't need a catfish that size, but they will need a few things from their mega-mart's international aisle.

Some of this software is easy: limes, cilantro and habanero chilies (or a Thai bird chili) and a stalk of lemon grass (surprisingly, available at many mega-marts these days. The “kha” refers to blue ginger, which Alton advises cooks to try to find, using regular ginger only if they cannot. He also needs fish stock, which may be cooked from kombu and and katsuobushi using the recipe from the Japanese pantry show, or may be purchased in liquid form at many stores. Finally, he collects some coconut milk and some fish sauce, which he describes as like Asian Worcestershire sauce, but funkier.

Alton likes Asian soups for their flavor, of course, but also for the fact that usually they require only a single pan. Into that large pan, Alton pours a quantity of fish stock and brings that to a simmer. He prepares the lemon grass by thinly slicing from the fat end (the top is woody). Blue ginger is far woodier than the common sort, so Alton first slices it into “fingers” and then removes the shoots with scissors and the rind with a vegetable peeler. He cuts the exposed flesh into matchstick sized pieces with the same sharp knife that served him when he cut the lemon grass.

Discovering that his dashi is boiling a bit hard, Alton dials back the heat before adding the blue ginger, lemon grass, and sliced pepper. Cilantro leaves, fish sauce and lime juice go in next. When that comes back to a simmer, he adds coconut milk and catfish fillets, previously cut into one inch cubes. Catfish is firm enough not to fall apart under this treatment. Alton cooks his soup for a few minutes until the fish is just cooked through – barely opaque, still nice and firm, and not overcooked. In this dish, Alton claims, the heat of the pepper doesn't overpower the flavor of the fish, and the coconut milk brings out subtle fish flavors. Now, Alton asks, doesn't that beat fried catfish?

The camera moves back and forth like a head shaking “no,” but Alton still cannot pander to “grotesque southern stereotypes.” Fortunately, he knows someone who can.

From a closet, hands retrieve a white-haired wig and beard, glasses, a white suit and a cane, and... Alton's uncle the Colonel appears once again! He knows how to fry up a river cat. To get started, he puts peanut oil in a black (cast iron) pot and heats this nice and hot – not so hot it smokes, but in the three hundred degree range somewhere. At the counter, he's got six nice fillets on an inverted sheet pan and some seasonings: Old Bay, salt, smoked paprika, and pepper. He mixes these and sprinkles that liberally over the catfish, then retrieves another sheet pan. Setting the other pan over his fish, he flips the fillets quickly and easily so he can season the other side.

To the accompaniment of cracking and creaking, the Colonel bends to retrieve the cane he dropped before seasoning the other side of each fillet. Next, he dips each fillet into low-fat buttermilk (the Colonel counsels patience – let the fillet drain thoroughly) and then into a dredge of flour and finely milled cornmeal. A quick shake knocks off any excess, and then he rests the fillet for about five minutes on a drying rack set inside another sheet pan. This step is important – without it, the crust will fall off during frying!

His fillets coated, he slips them into the oil two at a time, cooking until they are golden brown and delicious and removing them to a draining rack with a spider. They're much too hot to eat now. When they cool a bit, he serves some to Alton with tartar sauce and ketchup. And iced tea in quart mason jars. Alton realizes that down south, when it comes to catfish, they do know... Good Eats!

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