Friday Night Fish Fry

When I think of being a Catholic, I think about Bingo and the  Friday Night Lenten Fish Fry. While growing up Catholic, neither event existed in my old parish of St. Patrick’s, in Cleveland, Ohio. But both have been a part of my life since moving to Pittsburgh and having my children attend Catholic schools.

To be honest, I only played Bingo once when a friend forced me to go. It was a strange experience, since all those women had a multitude of Bingo cards spread out in front of them. Not only were the cards many but the women had a number of small good luck statues in front of them, along with big fat stampers to mark the Bingo cards. At that time, people were still allowed to smoke in the Bingo hall and it amazed me that the women could actually see their cards through the clouds of smoke that were coming out of their mouths.

Then there is the Lenten Fish Fry. I grew up disliking fish. Fridays at my house was a nightmare for me. It was fish for my family and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for me. Thank God for peanut butter! The same occurrence would continue as I went off to college. I would pass on the scrumptious looking jumbo shrimp and head for the bread, peanut butter, and jelly.

Now, if any of my grown children ask me to attend their church’s Fish Fry, I usually go along with them. I still am not fond of fish. It depends on the parish where the Fish Fry is at. St. Teresa’s in the North Hills area is probably one of the best Fish Fry’s around.

The Friday Night Fish Fry is usually crowded with families, especially families with children, who attend the parish schools. At the Fish Fry I attended, we lined up, placed our food order, found a table to sit down at, and waited for the order to be placed in front of us by one of the school children. While I was waiting, I notice the loud noise and all the kids, and especially all the desserts on display. The desserts are extra but they are a big seller. Desserts are important to the meal. But mostly, I smell the oil and the overwhelming odor of fish.

The meal arrives, and I look at the huge piece of breaded fish in a bun. I look down the table and smile as I find the cocktail sauce. As long as I can drown my fish in plenty of cocktail sauce, it is fine. I realize this is all the taste and sounds of a Lenten Fish Fry. And as soon as I can consume a dessert, I know that I will survive.