CUTBANK Words: Gregory Fitz ALL YOU CAN EAT pollock or river swai. None of us have ever heard of swai, but it turns out to be an iridescent catfish from the Mekong Delta. Globalization creates this insane scenario. Google says proposed dams on the Mekong River will ruin fish habitat and migration patterns there. Sounds familiar. Nobody opts for the swai. Talk turns to the invasive carp creeping closer to the Great Lakes and other northern watersheds. Chicago won’t close the shipping canals that make the river run backward and the bubble barriers they set up to halt migrating carp aren’t working. The carp are apparently pretty good eating. Commercial fisher-man net and ship them to Asia and Haiti. Seems like if we could batter and deep fry them, the weekly fish fry in Wisconsin could consume that population in a few years. It would be cheaper than shipping in frozen swai from Vietnam anyway. All-you-can-eat orders are crushing the kitchen. The waitress apologizes for the wait. When she walks away I can’t help but notice the seat of her jeans is cov-ered with an immense and intricate pattern of sequins, bold stitching and rhinestones. My sister explained to me that this is called Glitter Booty, or sometimes Bling Butt. I guess I’m a fan. The hot fish eventually arrives with fries, coleslaw and tartar sauce and our third (maybe fourth) round of pitchers. New Glarus is one of the largest brewer-ies in the country and they only distribute inside the state of Wisconsin. New Glarus and fried fish are a synergistic pairing. The band is finally warmed up and they lock into a tight version of a ZZ Top tune then roll into Muddy Waters “Champagne & Reefer.” The pollock tastes perfect. In Wisconsin, every restaurant worth a damn does a fish fry on Friday night. Every Friday. Doesn’t matter if it is Lent or if you are in the city or not. If you’re inside the state boundary on a Friday eve-ning, you seek a fish fry for dinner. Tonight the bar is packed and it is easy to sort the regulars from the visit-ing fisherman. The locals sit with their families and use the server’s name when they order. The fishermen huddle in clusters bragging or commiserating. They wear brand names like a uniform. In the crowd, I recognize familiar faces from fly shop events in Minneapolis and Instagram. One blog-ger is holding court at the next table, surrounded by nodding acolytes competing to see who can laugh the loudest at his jokes. The economy sucks around here, but there is money to be made feeding the weekend warriors. The trout fishing is pretty good right now. I hear some musky are being caught nearby, too. Posters look forward to snowmobile traffic during winter. Another announces exotic dancers for the deer-hunting opener. There are no strippers for the flyfishermen, but there is a pole on-stage where a group of part-time rockers limp through a sloppy cover of “Smoke on the Water.” When seasonal activities won’t draw crowds, other entrepreneurial schemes arise. I arrived once to find a single mini-golf hole set up in the bar. My friend shot a bogey while the bartender explained their tournament. Nine bars throughout the county each host a hole. The goal was to play a round over the course of the week-end. It sounded pretty fun, but it also sounded like a lot of drunk driving along rural highways filled with deer. A friend from Milwaukee is a fish-fry connoisseur. He is upset that perch isn’t an option. Tonight it is BELOW “Back before a fly rod was my main tool, I’d hit the Wisconsin River Flowages in the Northwoods as soon as school got out and fish until it was time to get home. Mom always appreciated a brace of fresh fish, but I still had to clean them.” Photo: Kyle Zempel The carp are apparently pretty good eating. Commercial fisherman net and ship them to Asia and Haiti. Seems like if we could batter and deep fry them, the weekly fish fry in Wisconsin could consume that population in a few years.
The Flyfish Journal Volume Eight, Issue Four: Page 104
