Friday Night Fish Fry Posse

Just like everybody and their brother in town, I’m gonna take the dive into half-assedly documenting the world of Lenten Fish Frys. Regular readers of this virtual tome of silliness know I’m all about St. Louis and the people and institutions that make our fair city unique, and church fish frys are as ubiquitously  St. Louis as trivia nights, our vernacular pronunciation of the word “forty,” and slingers.  Raised (but now gleefully lapsed) Catholic, I know a good slab of the typical deep-fried white fish of unidentifiable variety, and I’m ready to put in the extra time in the gym to indulge in said fish, mac & cheese and slaw at least every other week during Lent.

Of course, fish isn’t the only consideration when determining the quality of the fish fry; it’s all about experience. I love the churchy camaraderie, cold cans of domestic beer, the Boy/Girl Scouts helping bus tables, the homemade desserts at the end of the line, and the occasional intoxicated priest. Fish frys are equal parts eating and people watching.

Tonight, the FFP will include my sister, friend Rachel and her daughter. The venue is currently undecided, but it will probably be Pius V (Irish band for entertainment!) or St. Cecilia’s (authentic chile relleno, bitches).  Stay tuned for the report, and in the meantime, I leave you with a fond fish-related memory of my childhood…..

(Watching this as an adult confirms what I always suspected as a child….Bert is a total buzzkill douchebag. Also, close your eyes and listen to Ernie…he sounds suspiciously like Kermit. Hmmmm.)

After my comprehensive report of tonight’s fish fry, I’ll share my own St. Patrick’s Day tradition…delicious, mouth-watering scones. (Surprised? Sorry. I don’t reserve getting trashed on Guinness just on St. Patrick’s Day.)