Category — Jim's Thoughts

I grew up in the Detroit area and heard much made of Stroh’s “fire-brewed” beer. Now that I make my own beer, I realize that this claim was far less exotic than it seemed, but ever since I got the woodstove, I’ve wanted to attempt a batch of beer on it. Last Sunday afternoon the weather was beautiful, and brewing seemed like the perfect excuse to stay outside. I had *most* of the ingredients for this recipe, but I figured since this was an experimental batch anyway a bit of careful variation would be tolerated.

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The “gold standard” for Lenten fish dinners is St. Albert the Great, at least in my humble, yet correct, opinion. True, sentiment might play a role. I ate my first Lenten fish dinner at St. Albert’s, lo some five years ago when my sister- and brother-in-law invited us to tag along, and every year during the short season of Lent, Jan and I always return “home” at least once. Tonight was our most recent visit, and we were not disappointed.

St. Albert the Great in Dearborn Heights, MI

Traditionally, it’s the Mac and Cheese that’s the big attraction here but tonight both the deep-fried and the baked fish nudged into center stage. The baked fish was moist and tender and though I couldn’t identify the seasoning (Jan theorizes it’s thyme and paprika among others), it was particularly tasty. The fried fish was a solid rendition, flavorful but with that satisfying crunch. Even the french fries tasted especially good tonight.

As sides, there were green beans and tossed salad, both of which I avoid on general principle, as well as coffee and the nearly-magenta-colored concoction Jan and I call “church punch” to drink. There was also pop and bottled water for an extra fee. The “good” desserts were gone by the time I finished filling up on fish (three plates! YUM) so I got a store-bought cupcake instead of the home-made carrot cake I would have sworn I saw at the table earlier.

The only off-note to the meal was the lack of crowds. In the past, there have been so many folks cycling through that there was frequently a line. I was a little disoriented when I was able to pay for my meal and then set right up to the counter to be served. I’m protective of this particular spot, and I hope the lack of patrons is only a mid-Lent dip in attendance and not an indicator of declining numbers in general.

I grew up not far from here. Like we experienced in Dexter last week, these people feel like my neighbors, my friends, though I don’t know anyone here personally, other than the ones we bring along. During a previous visit, the jovial priest of the parish walked up and down between the tables and greeted folks, telling jokes and making everyone feel comfortable, even us mis-believing protestants. I’m sure we would have come to disagreement pretty quickly if we let our brains start talking. But as long as our hearts – and perhaps our bellies – were in charge, we got along fantastically. If you get a chance to attend a Lenten fish dinner in your area, or any community sponsored meal, I really hope you can experience this sense of belonging, the sense of place at the table.

Short addendum for Jan: In a way, it seems a little off-base to indulge in a veritable feast during Lent, which is usually thought of as a season of sacrifice and preparation. Maybe instead of food or treats, what we might sacrifice, or let go of, or loosen is our isolation, or shyness, or hesitation– whatever it is that holds us back from seeing our neighborhood as a larger space and our neighbors as an even larger group of people. Another thing to consider, perhaps, is that the six-week long season is the perfect time to take up a practice and make it a habit. This could be a habit of reaching out, of being friendlier, doing something new, or investing time in relationships.

(20-Minute Jim) I was driving to work last week, just after a big snowfall. The roads were clear but not all the sidewalks had been dug out and the snow plows had made huge mountains of snow alongside the road. As I came up on an intersection where I intended to turn right, a pedestrian was standing smack dab in the middle of the right turn lane. Given those piles of snow, it would have been very difficult to locate, let alone excavate, the curb.

But what was most interesting to me was not where the woman was standing but what she was holding, namely an umbrella. It was snowing, of course. All that extra moisture in the air from the climate crisis has made it snow at least a little for days. But there was something poetically just about the kind of snow that was falling that made it seem appropriate to use an umbrella. The flakes were falling straight down without the wind scattering them – so it wasn’t a “flurry.” The number of flakes that were falling was steady but hardly a “storm.” It was clearly a “snow shower.”

(20-Minute Jim) If it’s Friday and if it’s during Lent (the season leading up to Easter observed by many Christians), then Jan and I are likely eating fish for supper. It’s not a religious practice for us; we’re strictly tourists but for about the past five years, Jan and I have been attending the various Fish Fry dinners hosted mostly by Catholic churches and Catholic-flavored charities. How we got started is a story in itself but one for another time. Tonight we attended the Knights of Columbus in Dexter, MI and, boy were we impressed.

First of all, the fish was incredible. As is common, it came both baked and fried, but the fried fish was pan fried not battered and deep fried. This was some of the best cooked fish I’ve ever eaten, truth be told. It was tender and moist and since there wasn’t a thick coat of batter, I felt I was getting more actual fish. Both the baked and pan fried were excellent but I think I preferred the fried, which just re-enforces my suspicion that everything tastes better fried.

The fish at a fish fry is obviously important but personally, it’s one of the traditional side dishes – macaroni and cheese – that is the hardest to pull off. (I still prefer the kind Jan makes.) The mac and cheese in Dexter was solid but not stellar. The sauce was ample and cheesy but the noodles were a bit too soft for my preference. Make no mistake, I still asked for a double scoop on both the plates I ate.

That’s right I had two plates full of food and I could have gone back for more. It’s kind of funny I suppose that Lent – a time traditionally associated with “giving up” something – also is the time of these fantastic, frequently all-you-can-eat dinners.

The Dexter K of C had a few other special touches. There were fried shrimp which were nothing spectacular on their own but a nice addition. And there were baked potatoes in addition to the french fries. I skipped the fries but Jan says they were excellent. Incidentally, I recommend dipping french fries into tartar sauce: I’ll never go back to ketchup. Desserts in general aren’t my thing but Jan reports there was a very good selection that included many homemade treats. I did notice that since the Knights of Columbus have a members only liquor license that some folks were enjoying a beer with their meal.

I scanned the room of round tables and it was easy to remember what had attracted Jan and me to these Fish Frys in the first place. There were a couple hundred folks – seniors, families, teenagers, other middle aged couples like Jan and me. We didn’t know a soul but it felt like we belonged here. We felt welcome. Certainly, it’s nice to know that the K of C is a charitable organization and the money raised from the tickets goes to help people in need. But what keeps Jan and I searching out places to have fish on Friday is that sense of warm, common humanity that we found in Dexter.

The heavy snow we had last week erased so many things that I nearly forgot about the other creatures who use our yard even while it’s cold. As I made my way out to the barn today, however, mine weren’t the only tracks in the snow.

There were these tracks, made by a critter with legs just long enough to traverse the yard with its belly dragging in the snow. Each stride is nearly a hop, such a labor to move just a few inches.

Another set of tracks snakes around a bit. Whoever made them had longer limbs. Movement was easy. My guess is a cat.

There were also strange marks at the end of one trail, where the snow was disturbed, scraped up like a scuffled had occurred. There were no other marks leading up to or away from it. I suspect that a hawk or an owl swooped down and carried away the creature in mid-stride. The thought is a bit strange that this place of recreation for me is also deadly serious to others.

When I reached the barn, I looked behind me and saw the large marks my boots had left on the snow. This snow that I soon would track into my kitchen, snow that will melt to puddles and soak into Jan’s socks if I don’t hurry and mop it up.

The gift I took from the garden today was a sense of these impermanent traces we leave through the world.