A Cleveland fish fry confessional
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Bless me, Cleveland, for I have sinned. It's been three years since my last good fish fry.
Why it matters: Once little more than an annual church fundraiser, the Lenten fish fry has exploded into a secular cultural phenomenon.
- Your penitent correspondent humbly submits that the whole ritual has jumped the shark in Northeast Ohio.
State of play: Lines out the door for overpriced cod and cabbage? Takeout? Local fish fry guides with dozens of nonprofits and restaurants from Vermilion to Youngstown promoted alongside church basements?
- No thanks!
The big picture: Lent is the 40-day period of prayer and almsgiving that's supposed to prepare Christians for Easter.
- There are nearly 600,000 Catholics in Northeast Ohio, and the observant among them traditionally abstain from eating meat on Fridays. Hence the Friday fish fry.
Friction point: I love yukking it up with volunteer grandmas at churches in Parma and Slavic Village and West Park as much as the next guy.
- But these are not Taylor Swift concerts, for Pete's sake! It feels insane to depart for dinner at 4:30pm to avoid a 45-minute line and guarantee that there will still be sides available.
Between the lines: Waiting that long and paying that much ($20 or more in some cases) can put you in a critical frame of mind.
- It can breed disappointment when you realize that the offerings are invariably versions of the same items you'd get anywhere else.
- Baked or battered fish produced on an assembly line next to big-batch wet sides usually isn't great. Promoting fish fries (or even assessing them) on their culinary merits misses the point.
Reality check: I am aware this is an extremely old-man take. Rest assured, I'm delighted that local parishes are seeing windfalls from increased attendance.
- My wife strongly advised against publishing anything on this subject, lest I discredit myself and jeopardize our marriage.
Flashback: During the pandemic, we tried new church fish fries every week. We still love going with friends and family to the most obscure and grandma-infested locations we can find.
The bottom line: I am not a hater! I don't mean to suggest that Cleveland fish fries, like certain neighborhoods or bands, have been ruined by their popularity.
- But they have, maybe, lost some of their charm.