Consider the blue catfish.

Unwanted and unwelcome, this marine invader represents 3 out of every 4 pounds of fish caught in parts of the Chesapeake Bay watershed. It has bullied into our environmental nightmares and threatens the harried rockfish, but — if we want — it could feature handsomely on holiday menus.

It won’t sit nobly at the center of your feast like a Norman Rockwell turkey, or come with lore like Maryland stuffed ham. It does have the element of abundance, though, and that fits nicely with celebrations that start with Thanksgiving.

By New Year’s Day, we could eat a heck of a lot of catfish if we tried. There may be no better way than smoked — if only we knew how.

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

Fish have long featured in my holidays.

In Ocean City, my stepfather turned out little fleets of clams casino, baking the smallest, tenderest clams with garlic-herb butter and bacon.

My father-in-law made a simple oyster casserole in Kentucky every season — baking shucked oysters shipped inland, half and half and Worcestershire sauce topped with crumbled saltines. Wibbly-wobbly, but delicious.

Then there was my father. He’d pour wood chips into the heating pan of a rectangular smoker box, its aluminum skin dimpled with small diamond shapes. Marvelously seasoned sea bass and oil-rich mackerel emerged from the glorious white clouds of smoke, filling me with memories of fish flavored with cedar, hickory and mesquite.

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

Maryland has been working hard to convince us to eat more blue catfish, as much as possible.

Commercial landings in Maryland have 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 take on the famous “Jaws” poster, a catfish subbing in for the infamous movie shark and the name changed to “Maws.”

The Department of Agriculture put up 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 in 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 adopt new catch restrictions to give stripers room to survive. Proposals go public next week with an informational webinar set for Dec. 5 and a decision the next day in Virginia.

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

I dry-brined two fillets, covering them with salt and spices to firm up the finished fish. This is marvelous kitchen science. Over a few hours, moisture is drawn from the fish and then slowly reabsorbed with salt and other flavorings. It creates a lightly crisped exterior.

Monday morning, I fired up my smoker. It’s a long way from my dad’s aluminum box, with multiple settings for smoke and heat. I set it at about 165 degrees with low smoke, patted the fillets dry and set them on the grill.

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

Zang opened it in 2016, and from an anonymous industrial space he and his staff of about six smoke 1,200 to 1,500 pounds of fish each week. He sells direct to consumers from his website but also supplies restaurants and hotels in Annapolis, Baltimore and Washington, D.C.

Originally in the business of importing salmon from Norway, Iceland and the Faroe Islands, Zang met master smokers while traveling. One approached him about opening a U.S. location but instead taught the craft to Zang.

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

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

Zang vacuum-packs his whole fillets or slices them with a machine that produces 90 delicate portions a minute. The packaged fish gets a Chesapeake Smokehouse label and goes into a walk-in refrigerator to wait for overnight 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, understanding the connection with the bay’s health. But there are problems. First, is finding a way to convince people they want to eat smoked catfish. He’s tried Old Bay, lemon and pepper and even pastrami seasonings.

“We really have to find the method, the brining and the smoke, that makes it find a place on people’s plates,” he said.

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

One hour and one video conference after I started smoking my fish, the fillets still weren’t done. So, up to high smoke and 220 for the finish.

My home version, done after about two hours, came out smelling grandly of lemon, pepper, dill and smoke. The exterior had a bit of a bite, while the inside was tender and flaky.

There was little fish about the taste, with the rub spices overpowering the meat. Catfish is mild and, unlike salmon or trout, failed to become something considerably grander through the sophistry of smoke.

It’s good enough for a place on my table, maybe mixed with cream cheese into a dip for serving to the cooks in my kitchen. I might eat some on a green salad before the holiday.

Now, all this smoke has me thinking about what’s next.

How about that turkey?