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Honey Fried Walleye — When the Table Belongs to the Hunter

Hunting season. Rémy's second deer. A six-point buck this year — bigger than last year's doe, a proper buck, and the boy took it with the same clean shot and the same minute of sitting and the same words: "We'll use everything, Papa." We processed it together. The freezer is full. The cycle continues. The boy is eleven and has two deer on his record and the record is not about counting, it's about the contract: you take, you use, you honor.

Made venison tenderloin medallions — the premier cut, seared in butter and thyme, served with mashed potatoes and a red wine pan sauce. Field to table in twelve hours. The boy's deer, the boy's dinner, the boy's table. He sat at the head (I let him — his deer, his seat) and carved the tenderloin and served each family member and the serving was ceremonial and the ceremony was ancient and the ancient was a boy in a kitchen in Baton Rouge in 2022 serving venison he hunted and processed and cooked, and the boy is a Beaumont, and the Beaumonts have been hunting and cooking for longer than Louisiana has been a state.

The venison medallions were Rémy’s night — his deer, his seat, his ceremony — but the Beaumont kitchen doesn’t slow down between seasons, and the same ethos that carries us through deer camp carries us straight to the water. Honey Fried Walleye is the fish version of that same promise: you catch it, you clean it, you cook it right, and you put it on the table with respect. If your family lives by the cycle the way ours does, this recipe belongs in the same rotation as any venison night — golden, honest, and earned.

Honey Fried Walleye

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 27 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 4 walleye fillets (6–8 oz each), skin removed
  • 1/3 cup honey
  • 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
  • 1 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 cup fine yellow cornmeal
  • 1 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1 teaspoon paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
  • 2 eggs, beaten
  • 2 tablespoons milk
  • Vegetable oil, for frying (about 1/2 inch depth in pan)
  • Lemon wedges and fresh parsley, for serving

Instructions

  1. Make the honey glaze. In a small bowl, whisk together the honey and Dijon mustard until smooth. Set aside.
  2. Prepare the dredge. In a shallow dish, combine flour, cornmeal, garlic powder, paprika, cayenne, salt, and black pepper. In a second shallow dish, whisk together the eggs and milk.
  3. Coat the fillets. Pat walleye fillets dry with paper towels. Brush each fillet generously on both sides with the honey-mustard glaze. Dip into the egg wash, letting excess drip off, then press firmly into the seasoned flour-cornmeal mixture to coat evenly.
  4. Heat the oil. Pour vegetable oil into a large heavy skillet (cast iron works best) to a depth of about 1/2 inch. Heat over medium-high heat until a pinch of flour sizzles immediately on contact, about 350°F.
  5. Fry the fillets. Working in batches to avoid crowding, carefully lay the coated fillets into the hot oil. Fry for 3–4 minutes per side, turning once, until the crust is deep golden and the fish flakes easily with a fork. Internal temperature should reach 145°F.
  6. Drain and rest. Transfer fried fillets to a wire rack set over a baking sheet — do not use paper towels, which trap steam and soften the crust. Let rest 2 minutes before serving.
  7. Serve. Plate with lemon wedges and a sprinkle of fresh parsley. A drizzle of extra honey over the top is optional but encouraged.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 420 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 12g | Carbs: 38g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 540mg

Tommy Beaumont
About the cook who shared this
Tommy Beaumont
Week 259 of Tommy’s 30-year story · Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Tommy is a Cajun electrician from Thibodaux, Louisiana, who lost his home to Hurricane Katrina four months after his wedding and rebuilt his life one roux at a time. He grew up on Bayou Lafourche, fishing with his father Joey at dawn and eating his mother's gumbo by dusk. His crawfish boils draw the whole neighborhood, his boudin is made from scratch, and he stirs his roux the way Joey taught him — dark as chocolate, forty-five minutes, no shortcuts. Laissez les bons temps rouler.

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