Karen Wils photo A sink full of perch and smelt.

ESCANABA — Ahh, the essence of Northtown, on a Lenten Friday night.

Hot grease, melting snow, raw perch, baking beans, mud puddles, wood smoke, wet dogs, and the smell of strong coffee with maybe a wee bit of homemade Croatian wine mixed in are the aromas that I grew up with.

My childhood memories for the month of March are intermingled with the church season of Lent, where Christians fast, abstain or do small sacrifices in preparation for Easter.

Catholics eat fish on the Friday’s in Lent. (Years ago, all Fridays were meatless days.) This plus the fact that Little Bay de Noc was right out our front door, created the perfect atmosphere for the perfect fish fry.

When visiting friends and family that have moved away come back, they want to know, “who has the best fish fry in town?”

“Let’s go out for a fry fish,” they say.

Fresh perch or walleye golden brown, a stack of hot homemade French fries, baked beans, crisp coleslaw and a hearty hunk of homemade bread are what make up the traditional U.P. fish fry.

After a hard work week at the mill, the factory, the railroad or the office, it was a meal that was tasty and filling.

Fish fries meant great business to Northtown through the years. Skradski’s side door opened and the big old Fords and Chevys of the 1950s and ’60s filled the parking spaces.

On the next block, cigarette smoke and laughter flowed out of Spar’s restaurant and bar.

The Corner Bar’s backroom was a busy place on Friday nights, as was the “Michigan bar” on the “west end.”

Naturally, some of the best fish fries I ever had were fixed and served right at home. My family fished. My dad, uncles and brothers loved to fish. So if there wasn’t fresh fish caught through the ice, there was almost always trout or at least smelt in the freezer.

Mom was a great cook. Back in her younger days, she worked at Spar’s and at the Highland Golf Club. She knew how much heat and hard work Friday night fish fries could be, but that never stopped her from preparing some awesome ones at home. (Even though fish was not her favorite food.)

When the snow got wet and slushy and the daylight lingered some after school and the paper route, I remember some mighty fine fish fries at my Uncle Bob’s house.

I love a good meal of fish or seafood, so it’s not much of a sacrifice for me. It is interesting to note that fish used to be a “poor man’s meal.” Not so, anymore.

Catholics do not have to eat fish on Friday. They are supposed to not eat meat of warm-blooded animals. I guess eating vegetarian or maybe being satisfied with a little nip of plain cheese would be much more of a sacrifice for me.

Fish fries are not just about the food. They are about the good company that they’re shared with. They are about being thankful for the ability to complete another work week and relax with family and friends.

Oh yes, my husband can do up a fine fish fry too. If someone cooks fish for you, enjoy and then offer to do the dishes.

——

Karen (Rose) Wils is a lifelong north Escanaba resident. Her folksy columns appear weekly in Lifestyles.