Whiting Fish and the Soul of Bone-In Memories
Lunch today wasn’t just a meal — it was a trip back in time. My brother and I sat down at Richie’s Soul Food in Cincinnati, Ohio, and somewhere between the sweet yams and the greens, a plate of whiting fish arrived and took me straight back to my mama’s kitchen.
(If you enjoyed this post and want to try out the same ingredients and tools I use, feel free to check them out below!
These are affiliate links, which means I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. Thank you for supporting my work 💛
- 7.5 Quart Cast Iron Dutch Oven: https://amzn.to/4dcUqms
- Lodge Pre-seasoned Cast Iron Skillet: https://amzn.to/3TyyMSA
- Bamboo Seasonings Box with Mini Spoon: https://amzn.to/4dfHzA6)
A Bite of the Past
“It’s been forever since I had whiting,” I said to my brother, my voice carrying a little bit of that longing. The moment I took that first bite, my eyes welled up a bit — not because the fish was spicy, but because I could see my mom again. I could smell her frying it up, humming some old gospel tune, telling us to get out of the kitchen before we got popped with hot grease.
Walter and the Boneless Way
My brother Walter, though, he ain’t really with the bone-in life. I asked him if he ever cooked whiting and he just shook his head. “I stick to boneless,” he said with a little shrug. “I don’t fool with those tiny fish.”
And I get it — bones can be tricky. But there’s something about bone-in fish that hits different. It’s not just about the taste, it’s about the ritual.
The Craft of Bone-In Eating
“Do you like eating fish with bones?” I asked.
“I do,” he replied. “I eat catfish with the bones and everything.”
See, that’s the thing. Bone-in fish is a whole experience. You gotta know how to work it. There’s a rhythm to it — pulling the meat just right, watching out for those little sharp b--es, knowing exactly where the flavor lives.
“It’s like a mystery,” I told him. “Something about bone-in just tastes better. Richer. Realer.”
I grinned and added, “I can clean that b--e bone dry, especially if it’s seasoned right. From the root to the tip, no crumbs left.”
Mystery Meat Moment
Of course, every fish comes with its... surprises. We stumbled on this strange-looking piece and I had to pause. “Uh, what is this part?” I asked, holding it up.
Walter leaned over, squinting. “Maybe it’s catfish vine or somethin’ — I’m not sure.” We both laughed, shrugged, and moved on.
Big Sis Still Watches
But just because we’re grown doesn’t mean I stopped looking out for him. I leaned in and said, “You gotta be careful. Those little b--es will get you.”
Walter nodded. “I know. I’ve ended up in the E-R before.”
I saw him being cautious, pulling out the b--es one by one, not rushing. “You didn’t eat too fast, did you?” I asked.
He smiled. “Nope. Learned my lesson.”
More Than a Meal
What filled me up today wasn’t just the fish. It was the memory of my mother, the warmth of family, the laughter over something as simple as a piece of fish with a mystery part we couldn’t name.
Whiting fish might not be fancy, but it’s a piece of my history. A reminder to slow down, chew gently, and let flavor bring back people you love.
So if you ever come across whiting — give it a try. Take your time. Watch for the b--es. And if you’re lucky, you might just taste a memory too.
