My favorite fish fries took place in Michigan during the winter. I'd visit my brother-in-law, who had a nice, cozy shanty on a frozen lake near where he lived. We'd freeze our butts off getting out there, but once inside and with the stove lit, we'd enjoy a couple of beers, and before long, we were shedding our heavy winter gear.
We sat in chairs looking down into a square hole several feet long that had been cut into the ice. With a flashlight shining, we could see some distance below the surface. The water was clear and still. Now and then, fish would appear, moving very slowly. We'd lower our lines and tease them with the shiny blades of our lures. The fish, usually perch, moved closer to investigate, often staring at the lure for several seconds before deciding it looked tasty. Time seemed to happen in slow motion as the fish opened its mouth, moved closer and turned slightly to take the bait. After some agonizing moments, it was safe to set the hook and reel in part of our dinner. The fish were then placed outside the shanty in a natural freezer until it was time to head home.
Our fish fries weren't fancy. We'd include homemade hush puppies and coleslaw and maybe some potato salad. But the fish was the center of attraction, freshly caught and cooked, the meat still holding its sweet flavor from that wild, clear water where it was created.
