Beer Battered Haddock Yield: 4 Servings 2 cups all purpose flour 1/2 teaspoon baking powder 1 egg, separated 1 cup beer oil for frying 4 boneless haddock filets, skin-on flour for dredging Combine the flour, baking powder, egg yolk, and beer in a bowl and mix with a wire whip until smooth. In a separate bowl, whip the egg white to soft peaks, then fold it into the batter. Fill a pot or deep pan with a few inches of oil and heat it to 325F. Dredge the haddock in flour, shaking off any excess. Then dip the floured fish in the batter, and holding it by the tail end, allow some of the batter to drip free. Carefully add the fish to the hot fat. Fry the fish for about five minutes, or until crispy and cooked throughout. Remove and drain on absorbent paper. Serve with lemon and tartar sauce. Shrimp Tempura Yield: 4 servings 1 large egg 1 cup cold water 1 cup all purpose flour 1/4 cup cornstarch 1/2 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon salt oil for frying 20 large shrimp, peeled and de-veined with tails on Combine the egg, water, flour, cornstarch, baking powder, and salt in a bowl and mix until just incorporated. Fill a pot or deep pan with a few inches of oil and heat it to 325F. Add the shrimp to the bowl of batter. Lift them out one at a time by their tails, allowing some of the batter to drip free. Add them to the hot fat and cook for two or three minutes. Remove the shrimp and drain on absorbent paper. Serve with soy-vinegar dipping sauce. Cajun-Style Fried Catfish Yield: 4 servings 2 cups cornmeal 1 cup flour 2 tablespoons Cajun seasoning 2 teaspoons baking powder 4 skinless catfish fillets oil for frying Combine the cornmeal, flour, Cajun seasoning, and baking powder in a bowl and mix thoroughly. Coat the catfish fillets with the cornmeal mixture and set aside in a single layer. Fill a pot or deep pan with a few inches of oil and heat it to 325F. Fry the catfish for about five minutes, or until crispy and cooked throughout. Remove and drain on absorbent paper. Serve with lemon, tartar sauce, or remoulade sauce.

It’s seven o’clock on a Friday night and the temperature outside hovers in single digits. Inside, I’m standing before a Flintstone-sized pot of hot fat, and I’m sweating. Glancing at the thermometer that is jury-rigged with a coat hanger into the fat, I see that it reads about 360 degrees Fahrenheit, which is slightly hotter than I’d like. This is, psychologically I suppose, making me sweat even more. But I anticipate a quick drop in the fat’s temperature when I load the kettle with ice-cold fish.

Cooking methods can be divided into two fundamental categories: moist and dry. And deep frying is actually considered a dry cooking method. The cooking medium may be liquid fat, but it is the absence of moisture that determines the category. For this reason, foods with even the smallest amount of moisture on them spit and sputter when they’re immersed in hot fat. It’s also the reason extreme caution should be observed; a single ice cube fallen into the pot could have disastrous results.

After flouring a couple pieces of haddock, I dip them in beer batter and then hold them up, allowing some of it to drip free. Holding the fillets by their tail ends, I lower them into the fat, sort of dragging them through it for a few seconds before releasing them, to allow the batter to begin to cook and puff. Dropping them straight into the pot, without letting them “swim” a little, would undoubtedly send them like a rock to the bottom of a pond, causing them to stick there and cook to the bottom. But with care the buoyancy of the puffy batter will float the fish.

Fried fish is a popular tradition during the Lenten season, and it’s a common one that crosses borders. The famous English version is, of course, fish and chips, which originated during Lent as a way to abstain from meat. The Far Eastern version is known as tempura in Japan. History credits the seafaring Portuguese with showing the Japanese how to fry fish. (They also brought the ukulele to Hawaii, but that’s another story.) The Japanese then perfected the technique and made it their own, but its name still bears direct lineage to the Portuguese. The word, tempura, is a variation of the Latin temporis, meaning time or times; the Portuguese word for time is tempo. The words refer to the holy seasons of Lent and Advent, which the early missionaries were trying convey to others.

This is what I thought about as I scrambled around putting baked potatoes, french fries, and coleslaw on plates, while at the same time I watched the fish fry. By the end of the evening I felt as if I had a thin film of oil covering my face, and I’m sure that I did.

When fat is past its prime, it darkens and tends to foam. Just after plating the last order of fish, I dropped another one into the fat. This one was for me. The fat, which at the beginning of the evening had been pristinely clear, was now brown and cloudy; the frying fish was shrouded by a layer of foam. This fish, I thought, as I watched it fry, could be a metaphor for everyday life: Sometimes things seem so clean and crystal clear; other times they’re cloudy and you can barely see a few feet in front of you.

Frying foods coated in batter really is ingenious; it adds more than just a crisp texture. Sure, the fried, crispy coating is delicious, but it also creates a sort of cooking vessel around the fish. The fish itself is not being fried; the batter surrounding the fish is fried. If fish were fried directly without a coating the result would be dry and tough. When fish is encased in a crispy shell it steams within the shell rather than fries, which results in a moist, flaky, and tender interior.

I removed the fish to a draining rack and let it rest a minute, but in my impatience I didn’t allow it to rest long enough. I broke it with my fingers and a small bubble of fat dripped and burned me slightly. Instinctively, I put the burned finger in my mouth; it tasted of oil and fish. When I broke the fish again I saw that the batter was crisp and the interior flaky; it steamed as I broke it. I ate with my hands, dipping the fish into a small bowl of tartar sauce. It was good, really good. The stress of a busy night had passed and everything seemed all right. I’m not sure of a lot of things these days, but I am sure of one thing: By the end of the night I’m sure that I smelled like fried fish.