Turkey is great, but Maryland should be eating blue catfish during the holidays

Consider the blue catfish.

Unwanted and unwelcome, this marine invader represents 3 in 4 pounds of fish caught in parts of the Chesapeake Bay watershed. It has plagued our environmental nightmares and poses a threat to troubled rockfish, but — if we want — it could look nice on holiday menus.

It won’t sit nobly at the center of your feast like a Norman Rockwell turkey, or with lore like a Maryland stuffed ham. However, it does have the element of abundance, which fits nicely with celebrations beginning with Thanksgiving.

We could eat a lot of catfish on New Year’s Day if we tried. There may be no better way than smoking – if only we knew how.

“We did a few runs with blue catfish,” said Rock Zang, owner of Chesapeake Smokehouse in Annapolis. “We’re still trying to find something that will make it great.”

Fishing has long been a part of my vacations.

In Ocean City, my stepfather made a small fleet of clams, where he fried the smallest, softest clams with garlic herb butter and bacon.

My father-in-law made a simple oyster dish every season in Kentucky: shucked oysters shipped inland, half-and-half and Worcestershire sauce, topped with crumbled pretzels. Wobbly, but delicious.

Then there was my father. He poured wood chips into the heating pan of a rectangular smokebox, its aluminum skin riddled with small diamonds. Deliciously seasoned sea bass and oily mackerel emerged from the glorious clouds of white smoke, filling me with memories of fish seasoned with cedarwood, hickory and mesquite.

So I decided to do my part to save the Chesapeake Bay and smoke blue catfish for the holidays.

Maryland has worked hard to convince us to eat as many more blue catfish as possible.

Commercial landings in Maryland increased from 625,387 pounds in 2019 to 1.1 million in 2023, excluding the Potomac River. The Department of Natural Resources tried to make it fun with a version of the famous “Jaws” poster, a catfish replacing the infamous movie shark and changing the name to “Mew.”

The Department of Agriculture posted videos for cooking stuffed catfish for Thanksgiving, gave it away to food banks and served it as sliders to elementary school children.

All of this is an attempt to eat our way out of a problem. Since its introduction to Virginia decades ago, the blue cat has become an apex predator. They devour menhaden, shad, river herring, blue crabs, plants and insects.

The pressure on its native competitor, the striped bass, is so great that the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission is about to implement new catch limits to give stripers room to survive. The proposals will be made public next week with an informative webinar on December 5 and a decision the next day in Virginia.

Although this cat is called blue, its flesh is red. That is myoglobin, a protein that transports oxygen in the blood. It’s a sign that you’re eating something that spends its life swimming after prey.

I dry-brined two fillets and covered them with salt and spices to firm up the finished fish. This is great kitchen science. Moisture is extracted from the fish over a few hours and then slowly reabsorbed with salt and other flavorings. It creates a slightly crispy exterior.

Monday morning I lit up my smoker. It’s a far cry from my dad’s aluminum box, with multiple settings for smoke and heat. I set it to about 165 degrees with little smoke, patted the fillets dry and placed them on the grill.

What I tried is a far cry from the fish Chesapeake Smokehouse produces.

Zang opened it in 2016, and from an anonymous industrial space, he and his six or so employees smoke 1,200 to 1,500 pounds of fish every week. He sells directly to consumers through his website, but also delivers to restaurants and hotels in Annapolis, Baltimore and Washington, DC

Originally importing salmon from Norway, Iceland and the Faroe Islands, Zang met master smokers during his travels. One approached him about opening an American location, but instead taught the trade to Zang.

The result is a small commercial kitchen in an industrial park in Annapolis. If you know where the smokehouse is, he’ll sell you a few packs.

The most prized smoked salmon, the silky kind devoured at a reception table or sold by the ounce on a restaurant menu, and the salty version on your bagel are cold smoked. It is cured rather than cooked.

Zang vacuum packs his whole fillets or cuts them into pieces with a machine that produces 90 delicate portions per minute. The packaged fish is given a Chesapeake Smokehouse label and goes into a walk-in refrigerator to await shipping or delivery within the region.

The result dissolves on your tongue and fills your mouth with the flavors of fish and ocean.

Zang wants to add catfish because he understands the connection to the bay’s health. But there are problems. First is finding a way to convince people that they want to eat smoked catfish. He’s tried Old Bay, lemon and pepper, and even pastrami seasoning.

“We really need to find the method, the brining and the smoke, that gets it to people’s plates,” he said.

Hot smoking produces a different texture than cold smoke, more like country ham than Chesapeake Smokehouse salmon.

One hour and one video conference after I started smoking my fish, the fillets were still undercooked. So on to high smoke and 220 for the finish.

My home version, ready after about two hours, came out smelling wonderfully of lemon, pepper, dill and smoke. The outside had a bit of a bite, while the inside was soft and flaky.

There was little fish in the taste, with the herbs overpowering the meat. Catfish is mild and, unlike salmon or trout, has failed to become anything significantly grander through the fallacies of smoke.

It’s good enough for a place on my table, perhaps mixed with cream cheese into a dip to serve to the cooks in my kitchen. Maybe I’ll eat some on a green salad before the holidays.

All this smoke has me thinking about what’s next.

What about that turkey?