The End: For Now.

So the last outing of the No NMAUL’s Friday Fish adventures was last Friday. While not the largest group to take in a fish fry, I have say I think it was one of the most ultimate. Here’s why: no one complained about standing in line. And stand in line we did.

Let’s recap. We went to St. Albert’s the Great, which apparently is now the Twin Cities’ Most Popular Fish Fry. I’m serious. I spent less time in  for the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney World.

That’s me, by the sign.

This is my view in line. But standing in line had some great advantages. I learned a lot. Now I know where the frog pond went.

Way to go Mrs A!

We encountered other things in line. I quizzed Claw on St. Alberts, and we met Creative Ageless People.

They make things like this:

Taylor wanted this:

There was also a guy walking around in a cheetah vest and a leprechaun hat, and a guy wearing a fake pink mohawk. They were selling tickets for the raffle, that the priest was talking up while he greeted people and told jokes. And he was on a roll. He had a big enough crowd:

I asked if they ever ran out of fish. They just laughed at me and said “This is a fish fry! What do you think?” I guess not. And good thing. Because I was hungry by the time we got to the front of the line. I’m hungry now just thinking about it. So let’s fast forward to the fish.

Fine  fish fry a la Albert’s. Everyone enjoyed it:

(where’d that neck roll come from??)

(no desert for you, neck roll!)

The food was pretty delicious. This is definitely the one to hit if you’re not an adventurous fish eater, or if you don’t like garlic sauce.

Sounds like a great night, right? Well it ain’t over! After dinner we headed upstairs for some BINGO!

This lady called it:

This lady won it:

Count it!

Finally, flush with cash and fish, we left. There was no more fish fry to be had. And as we waddled to the car three blocks away, it felt like a fitting end to the season. Because it’s just that. Next year rolls around and soon enough it’s fish fry time again. And then I’ll know to get to St. Albert’s before 6pm.

Tonight: The Last Fryday!

Like salmon returning to spawn, the fish fry club heads back to St. Al’s tonight for the final fish fry of the season. 5:30, with bingo to follow!

Ah, memories: A Tri-City Legion diary

The Anti-Ungulate League ventured into the uncharted waters of New Brighton last week for a taste of auxiliary-style fish fry. The Tri-City Legion was everything we’d hoped it would be: Lots of fish, lots of atmosphere, lots of grease, lots of memories. Unfortunately, there were also lots of non-fish dinners being ordered at the table. Someone even ordered a salad, if my memory serves correctly. Funny thing about memories, though: They can change. Like a photograph of a face that’s been scratched out, memories can be abolished, or even made different. Made… better? Perhaps. Consider the photographs below. Certain people–some may call them traitors, guilty of the sin of fish betrayal–have been removed from the images. It’s as if their crimes never happened. It’s as if… they never existed in the first place.

And so we are left with nothing but happy memories:

A handsome plate if ever there was one. The bun was tasty, and the potato was excellent, especially with the sour cream in that delightful pyramidal contraption. The fish itself was incredibly greasy, but clearly homemade. The flavor was there, even if you had to pick through a nearly impenetrable wall of fried batter to get to it. It was also huge. This photo doesn’t quite do it justice. Try this one:

Or this one, conveniently shown juxtaposed with Claudia’s head for scale:

Speaking Claudia’s head, what’s with that face? She was making it all night:

Here’s an artistic rendering of “Claw Face,” in burger leftovers:

Agh, did someone say burger?! Some memories have a way of sneaking back in. Sorry.

Continuing on: Amanda passed her funny little camera around the table to get these great shots, so of course someone had to do the classic through-the-beer-glass shot:

A little easy, if I do say so myself. But nice colors.

A couple more shots of the group:

And one last one of the best snack machine I’ve ever seen, color-coded for convenient snacking:

If I hadn’t eaten fish that night, I would’ve hit the yellow row hard. But who goes to the Tri-City Legion on Fryday and doesn’t order fish? I can’t imagine such a person existing.

TGIFryday!

These two will be at the Tri-City Legion at 6 pm.

Tomorrow: Tri-City American Legion!

I wish you could too, The General.

We’re going to the Tri-City American Legion tomorrow. It’s not a strictly Lenten fry, but we’re not strictly Catholic, so whatthefuckever. They have beer.

See you there!

Lebanese fish fry? Two words: Muy Bien

Fryday Fish Fry was a bonanza of epicurean delights last week. I’m telling you: You can judge a lot about a fish fry from A: its sign, and B: its crowd. Judging from this photo, taken as we were walking up to the Holy Family Maronite Church, this was a winner:

Just look at that bustle! Here’s the crowd that greeted us as we walked in the door. (The fuzzy blobs by the window–2 o’clock–are Claudia and what looks like Kevin.)

The ladies on the serving line were adept, however, and that line moved with a refreshing briskness. Soon we were sitting, staring point blank at our heaping plates:

The eggplant in the center was incredible. The hummus: A nice touch. The fish: Decent. I certainly appreciated the fact that it was battered in-house. The goo at 12 o’clock is “garlic sauce,” which I gather to be minced garlic mixed with mayonnaise. It was the hit of the meal, as evidenced by the fragrant and proficient belching of the Anti-Ungulate League throughout the balance of the evening.

In fact, Claudia burped immediately after this photo was taken:

After a hard night’s work, the ladies of the infamous Lebanese fish fry took a well-deserved load off. They were curious about our little fish fry gang, and when we told them what we were up to, they were all a-titter about the other fish fries in town. “Our’s is the best, right?” they wanted to know.

Jeff’s answer:

Later, in what’s become tradition among the Anti-Ungulates, we went for drinks at Dr. Spencer’s house. She made grasshoppers, which made our burps minty, with a subtle hint of garlic undertones. Delicious. Real Amanda couldn’t make it (perhaps she was still recovering from this), but Fake Amanda had a blast:

Look out! Even in two dimensions, she’s shifty-eyed.

Good fish fry, everyone! See you this Fryday. Only two more left!

Brotherly love, relief, and fish,

chuck

ps: They speak Spanish in Lebanon, right?

Lebanese fish fry, here we come.

We hit the Holy Maronite Church fish fry in SSP today at 5:30. Here are directions. Here’s an annotated photo of what to expect. (Thanks, Leopard Girl!) And here’s how excited Peter is about eating hummus and pilaf with his fish:

How excited are you for Fryday?

We’re heading to this place.

Fish Fry Recap: Our Holy Cross. Or: “Are You Always Happy?”

Against the warnings of Chuck, the N0 NMAUL grand grouper, the gang made its way to Our Holy Cross last Fryday to indulge in some tasty fried whitefish and something yellow that we were told was macaroni and cheese. (More on that in a second.) The church is in Northeast, and probably for that reason alone the Anti-Ungulate League was in full force:

What a handsome crew! Now let’s check out the meal itself:

Not too bad, actually. The palette actually extends beyond the usual white-to-grey spectrum and even ventures into something resembling green with that coleslaw, which you have to admit was better than SLP’s. The cookie, while not homemade, was a nice touch, and the fish was actually quite good. Unlike the last time your humble correspondent ate at Our Holy Cross–about five years ago–they were serving seconds, although nobody needed it. Our stomachs were too busy dealing with the macaroni, the consistency of which Claudia likened to shellac. Danielle and I later argued over whether or not the macaroni was elbows or spirals. The fact that we even had that argument in the first place tells you all you need to know about that particular side dish.

Luckily inedible macaroni is the mother of invention, as evidenced by Amanda’s and Claudia’s newest culinary experiment, the “Mac’n'tato”:

Yes, she actually ate that.

Later in the meal, I met my new best friend:

His name is Chad, but he prefers Chadwick. He wanted my phone number, but I told him I’d see him on my Facebook instead. He was into that, so we wrote down our names.

And now we’re all best friends.

When Chadwick joined us, he asked Claudia, “Are you always happy?” She said yes.

Later, after fish fry, inspired by Chadwick, we decided we could actually be a little happier, come to think of it, so we ventured across the street to Shaw’s and did some of this:

Verdict: Not the greatest food, but last Fryday definitely had the best company.

When it comes to Fish Fry Season, yes, Chadwick, we’re always happy.

Tonight we feast in our beloved Northeast

The fish flies at 5 tonight at Our Holy Cross church in Northeast Minneapolis. The Anti-Ungulate League will be there around 5:30.

Full disclosure: I have my doubts about this place, having been spurned here before. However, I’ve been eating exclusively at churches for the last two weeks, and sharing meals with the flock has put me in a mood for forgiveness. So I’m going in with an open mind, an open heart, and most importantly, an open mouth. Let’s see what you got, Holy Cross!