In this tale of two fish fries, tradition endures and community builds

By Patrick Lalley, for Pigeon605

It’s Lent, so this is about sin.

Actually, it’s more about redemption.

OK, that’s a bit grand.

But every good fish story takes a few liberties, and that’s what this is: a story about fish.

Delicious, hand-battered whitefish, dipped into boiling oil and flash-fried to a something so good it feels almost sinful.

The Friday night fish fry is a Lenten tradition across the Midwest and into the Northeast. Though, like many of the rituals at the intersection of religion and food, it has faded in the modern America. Whether it’s secularization, the isolation of the family unit or simply less-oily diets, the fish fry is less prevalent than it once was.

And yet from the Catholic parishes of Sioux Falls to small-town bars, you can get a slab of whitefish with sides, usually in service to fundraising of one sort or another.

At Holy Spirit Catholic Church during Lent, you’ll find a couple dozen middle-aged men bumping around in red shirts and aprons. These members of the Knights of Columbus prep the fish and fixings for the faithful and traditional.

Stages of the Cross at 5:30 p.m. Dinner at 6.

Running the show is Tad Raterman, the grand knight for the Holy Spirit chapter in southeast Sioux Falls.

On the second Friday of Lent, Raterman stacked Styrofoam containers packed with pollock, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese. Raterman is rightly proud of his work, preparing dinner for 100 or more parishioners, some of whom will take their meal to go, a sign of the COVID-19 times.

Others head downstairs to the Holy Spirit Elementary gym and lunchroom, donating whatever cash they think is fair, to share a meal. The Knights of Columbus stage similar events in most of the Catholic churches in Sioux Falls. At Holy Spirit, they raise money to support three seminarians on their path to priesthood.

This pandemic edition of the Friday night fish fry is trimmed back from previous years, Raterman said. Holy Spirit used to include spaghetti and cheese pizza.

“There are some Catholics that don’t like fish, of course,” he said.

Sin was mentioned earlier. There’s nothing in the way of sin here, though plenty of redemption.

Which is no way an indictment or commentary on the quality of the offering at Holy Spirit, or any other church involved, Catholic or otherwise.

But there’s something that needs to be addressed.

It’s the fish.

It’s not fried.

It’s baked.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t delicious or out of step with Rome, but it’s definitely not fried. There’s only so much an elementary school cafeteria can do, and in the spirit of the season, the method misnomer is forgiven.

Just one note: The fish is pollock, and people really like it, Raterman said. It comes through friends at Rosie’s Cafe in the West Sioux neighborhood.

If you’re hung up on the baked pollock, try Tea.

Tea is a community that created its own school district, a decidedly contrarian effort in the age of consolidation. The school district is growing as fast as any, bumping up sports classifications and building a legacy of success. There’s a chain hotel now, a big barbecue joint and all kinds of retail services.

And on one Friday night during Lent, the American Legion hall in Tea feels just as small-town and traditional as you would hope. It’s on old Main Street, just past the famed Tea Steakhouse, in what used to be the center of town.

If you’re lucky, you’ll spot Kyle Huinker.

He’s the one with the barrel chest, burly tattooed arms and blue bandana. That’s him, behind the steamer table, and things are about to turn, well not quite cardinal, but … forgive me, Father.  

Forgive me, Knights of Columbus, forgive me, arteries, weight-loss goals and all sense of decency.

Two pieces of battered and fried cod. A pile of string French fries that only hours before had been whole potatoes. A smattering of coleslaw and a buttered bun.

This, my friends, is a fish fry.

“It’s homemade bar food,” said Huinker, after listing the sparse ingredients of the batter. “It’s very simple but very good.”

Like the Knights back at Holy Spirit, the members of the American Legion come out to raise money, in this case for Tea Area High School athletics. It’s a symbiotic relationship, Huinker said. The parents support the Legion, the Legion supports the kids.

“It’s quite the undertaking,” said Huinker, a veteran of the Air Force and the treasurer of the Tea American Legion. “You can’t cook a lot at one time.”

Gone is the industrial kitchen from Holy Spirit, replaced by a series of turkey fryers manned by members of the Legion and a runner to get the fish to the tables. Huinker doesn’t mind the work – after 20 years in Tea, he’s committed to the community. “I’m not somebody who sits back and complains.”

The fish fry is a one-night stand in Tea. Last year, they had to cancel because of the pandemic. But “the people of Tea are loyal to the town,” Huinker said.

Six parents sit around a table, a few plates of fish and a few warming buckets of beer among them.

“Why am I here,” one man said, when asked. “I’m Catholic,” he offered – reason enough to attend the fish fry.

“You’re Catholic?” another parent asked, surprised. “I’m Lutheran.”

Then, they tallied the numbers: Three Catholics, three Lutherans.

It doesn’t get much more Midwestern than that – the Friday night faithful, the small-town volunteers, the neighbors taking in each other as a matter of course.

And then there’s this image to leave with you.

Me, driving home, a to-go box with me to share with my family. I present it to them, stuffed from my evening, rub my stomach and tell them what deliciousness they’re in for. They open the Styrofoam container on the kitchen counter. The first bite. The tartar sauce. The now limp fries.

And right then, we all slide back down to every Lent of our childhoods, every noisy church basement, every moment of tradition.

And we know the answer to “Why are you here?”