Sunday Supper: Fried Okra

My mother-in-law makes the best fried okra I have ever eaten, and I mean that without qualification or caveat. Not the best I have eaten outside of a restaurant, not the best homemade version, not the best in Moore County. The best. Full stop.

Learning her okra did not happen in an afternoon. It happened over several years of standing beside her at the stove, watching the color of the crust deepen in the oil, listening for the sound that means the okra is ready, understanding through repetition and observation what almost burnt looks like and why it is not the same thing as burnt.

Almost burnt is where the crust is at its most flavorful. It is deep and nutty and crackling, with a bitterness at the edge that is not a flaw but a feature. Burnt is when you have crossed the line, and there is no coming back.

That line is what this column is about. Not the recipe, which is simple. The judgment, which takes longer.

The Okra

Small pods fry better than large ones. Look for okra no longer than three to four inches, firm to the touch, and bright in color. Larger pods are tougher and more fibrous, and no amount of frying improves a pod that was already past its prime when it came off the plant. If you are buying from a farm stand or farmers' market, ask when the okra was picked. Fresh okra, picked that morning or the day before, fries differently from okra that has been sitting for several days.

Wash the pods and dry them thoroughly. Moisture on the surface of the okra is the enemy of a crisp crust. It causes the dredge to clump and the oil to spatter and the finished okra to steam rather than fry. Pat them dry with a clean towel and let them sit on the towel for a few minutes before cutting.

Slice the pods into rounds about half an inch thick. Discard the stem end. The cut surfaces are where the okra's natural mucilage, the substance that gives it its characteristic slippery quality when cooked in liquid, will be exposed, and the dredge adheres to those surfaces and seals them during frying, which is part of how fried okra avoids the sliminess that puts some people off the vegetable in other preparations.

The Dredge

Cornmeal and flour, combined. The cornmeal brings crunch and a faint corn sweetness that is specific to this dish. The flour helps the crust adhere and forms a coating fine enough to follow the contours of each okra round without clumping. Neither alone does what both together accomplish.

• 1 cup fine cornmeal
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon cayenne (optional)

Whisk the dry ingredients together in a shallow bowl. In a separate bowl, beat one or two eggs with a splash of buttermilk. This is the adhesive that makes the dredge stick to the okra. Toss the sliced okra in the egg wash, then transfer in batches to the cornmeal mixture and toss to coat. The coating should be even and completely cover the cut surfaces.

Work in batches rather than coating everything at once. Okra that sits coated for too long before hitting the oil gets soggy, and soggy dredge does not produce a crisp crust, regardless of how hot the oil is.

The Oil and the Heat

Vegetable oil, peanut oil, or lard – all three will fry okra correctly. The oil needs to be deep enough to come halfway up the okra rounds, not so deep that you are deep-frying rather than pan-frying. A cast-iron skillet with about an inch of oil is the right setup.

The oil temperature matters more than almost anything else in this process. Too cool and the okra absorbs oil rather than frying in it, producing a greasy result with a pale, soft crust. Too hot and the outside burns before the inside has time to cook through.

The right temperature is 350 to 375 degrees. It is hot enough that a piece of okra dropped in sizzles immediately and vigorously, not so hot that it darkens in the first 30 seconds.

A cast-iron skillet holds heat more evenly than most other pans and recovers faster when cold okra goes in and drops the oil temperature. Preheat the skillet and the oil together before the first piece of okra goes in.

Almost Burnt

Here is where the years of standing beside the stove pay off.

Fried okra that is done is golden. Fried okra that is right is darker than golden, more of a deep amber brown at the edges, with some pieces showing color that lesser cooks would call too far. Almost burnt means the crust has developed the kind of deep flavor that only comes from the Maillard reaction running long enough to produce something complex, slightly bitter, and completely addictive at the edges.

The difference between almost burnt and burnt is a matter of 30 seconds and attention. Watch the color, not the clock. Listen to the sizzle. It changes pitch slightly as the okra approaches done, becoming a little more assertive. When the pieces are deeply colored, and the sizzle sounds purposeful rather than violent, they are ready.

Remove them to a wire rack rather than a paper towel-lined plate. A wire rack lets the steam escape from underneath. Paper towels trap it and soften the crust that took all that effort to achieve.

Seasoning and Serving

Salt the okra the moment it comes out of the oil, while the crust is still hot enough to hold the seasoning. Salt added after the okra has cooled sits on the surface rather than adhering to it. A light hand with the salt here – the dredge was already seasoned, and fried okra that is too salty is a quick way to ruin something that was almost perfect.

Fried okra is at its best within ten minutes of coming out of the oil. The crust softens as it sits, and while it remains good for longer, the crunch that makes it extraordinary is a brief window. Plan accordingly. Fry it last, put it on the table immediately, and accept that the cook may not get any because it will be gone before they sit down.

Serve it plain or with hot sauce on the side. Some people dip it in ranch dressing, and this column will not argue with them. The okra stands on its own without accompaniment, though, and the first piece eaten plain, straight from the rack while it is still too hot, is the piece that tells you whether you got it right.

What Years Beside the Stove Teach

Fried okra is not a difficult recipe. The ingredient list is short, the equipment is basic, and the method is not technically demanding. What is demanding is the judgment: knowing when the oil is right, recognizing when it's almost burnt before it becomes burnt, and understanding that each batch is slightly different depending on the okra's moisture content, the oil's temperature, and the thickness of the coating.

That judgment does not come from reading a recipe. It comes from standing beside someone who already has it and paying close attention for as long as it takes. Several years are not too long. The okra at the end of that time is worth every minute of watching, learning, and occasionally getting it slightly wrong before getting it right.

Find the person in your life who makes the best version of whatever dish you most want to learn. Ask if you can stand beside them while they make it. Watch what they watch, listen to what they listen to, and do not look at your phone.

That is how this column's okra got this good. It is how most of the best cooking in Moore County got that way, too.

Okra Beyond the Frying Pan

Fried okra gets the attention, but the vegetable has a wider range than its most famous preparation suggests.

Okra is a natural thickener, and it is the ingredient that gives a proper Southern gumbo its characteristic body and texture. Slow-cooked with tomatoes and onion, it becomes a dish called okra and tomatoes that has been on Southern tables for as long as both vegetables have been grown here together.

Pickled okra, put up in late summer when the pods are at their smallest and most tender, is one of the finer things to pull from a pantry shelf in December.

The sliminess that makes some people hesitant about okra in non-fried preparations is addressed by cooking it quickly over high heat, adding an acid like tomato or vinegar to the pot, or embracing it as a feature rather than a flaw in dishes where thickening is the point.

Okra that is properly prepared for its specific purpose is never slimy in an unpleasant sense. It is doing exactly what it is supposed to do.

Cornmeal only or cornmeal and flour? How dark do you take the crust? Is there someone in your life whose fried okra sets the standard by which everything else is measured? Email larder@mcobserver.news or message us on Facebook.