Fish fry a staple of chef's formative years
As a native of Milwaukee, I was born with an affinity for fatty foods, beer drinking and, much to the dismay of many of my Chicago friends, Green Bay Packer football.
During my "Promiscuous Years" (1998-2006), anytime I'd come home for a visit, I'd have a long list of all the food I planned on eating. As I'm sure many of you know, nothing tastes better than nostalgia.
(Rich Hein/Sun-Times)
(Rich Hein/Sun-Times)
In no particular order, there were the butter burgers at Solly's, the custard and burgers at Kopp's and the amazing corned beef sandwich on the "wrong side of the tracks" at Jake's.
There was the great porterhouse at the Five O'Clock Club (in Jeffrey Dahmer's old neighborhood); Elsa's for the Hell's Fire Fries and burgers (yes, more burgers), and Zaffiro's for thin crust pizza.
Then, to finish almost any evening, there was always the obligatory helping of custard from my mom's freezer after a late night of beer drinking and/or whatever else I could get into (the word "no" escaped my vocabulary during most of this time period, but was locked in a closet whenever I'd visit home).
Although the memories -- at least those I can remember -- are fun ones, my digestive system was always happy to get back on a plane and on to the next place on my journey. One thing was for certain -- wherever that place was, it inevitably brought with it a healthier diet.
Fish fry, another staple of Wisconsin life, is a ritual on Friday nights. My favorite is near my dad's house on Okauchee Lake at the Hideaway. In this little "hole in the water," you can pull your boat right up to the dock, order, kick up your feet and eat in the boat.
I have a technique for how I eat a fish fry. I always push aside the 5-gallon bucket variety of coleslaw and move my tartar sauce into the larger container the slaw was in.
Next, I add fresh lemon juice to it and a generous amount of Tabasco sauce and mix. I use this new and improved sauce as the dip for my breaded perch and french fries.
Though it would take me longer than everyone else to start, I always managed to finish first. As with most of the aforementioned food, the less time you have to let your stomach know what it's getting into, the better off you are.
One more note on the fish fry -- pay the extra money for the perch. It beats the hell out of the frozen, beer-battered cod.
I've already written about my fish fry experiences working in a restaurant on my blog, thepickledtongue.com, but I hadn't really re-created the dish before at Lockwood. This recipe won't take the culinary world by storm, but it's simple and well-loved.
And in this instance, you don't even need to push the slaw to the side. But I do -- because once again, nothing tastes better than nostalgia.
Phillip Foss is the chef at Lockwood in the Palmer House Hilton, 17 E. Monroe.