Hear me out: The fish is too big

Food has close ties to various religious and cultural practices, many of which even I, an avowed atheist, enthusiastically embrace. I’ve enjoyed brisket and horseradish during a Jewish friend’s Passover celebration, dumplings made by a fellow grad student for Chinese New Year, and pączki, that filled, donut-like Polish pastry associated with Fat Tuesday.

In heavily Catholic areas like Pittsburgh, another tradition returns every spring — that of Lent, a time when worshippers abstain from, among other things, alcohol, red meat, and dairy. Over 40 days, meant to symbolize the time Jesus spent fasting in the desert, local parishes break out the hot oil to fry loads of breaded fish, one of the few delicacies Catholics can indulge in around this time. From the beginning of March to mid-April, lines will form outside church basements and community centers, ready to tear into hot slabs of cod often paired with French fries or coleslaw.

Even I enjoy this custom, especially this year, the first since I’ve relaxed my loyalty to vegetarianism. Still, my meat consumption is reserved for special occasions, and what’s more special than a good old-fashioned Pittsburgh fish fry?

But something has nagged at me since I started partaking in this Lenten tradition: the fish is too big. Maybe it’s the stubbornly modest Pa. Dutch values on which I was raised. While others may love the excess of a breaded fish longer than the average forearm, I am a seafood puritan, a pragmatic killjoy who gets off on denying myself even the most humble of luxuries. I prefer scratchy towels and burgers with no cheese and complain about too much icing on cakes.

Now that I have outed myself as the Scrooge of fish-based holidays, please, Catholic fam, at least hear me out.

First, there should be options for single fish fryers and those who prefer to eat their whale of a white fish in one sitting. Otherwise, the leftovers would be taken home, forgotten, and thrown out, especially for an ADHD case like myself. This presents a financial opportunity for the churches trying to raise money through these fries. Split that fish in half, and charge me a nominally lighter fee. I’ll pay it if I don’t have to feel the guilt of wasting perfectly fine fish as I predictably leave it to congeal and harden into something unreheatable.

Second, why does my massive catch of the day come with a thimble of tartar sauce? For me, the fish partly serves as a mere vehicle to deliver this tangy condiment to my big, dumb mouth. And yet, the amount I receive does little more than soak into the breading and relatively tiny bun, never to be detected again. Please, make with the sauce!

Thirdly, make the bun optional. Why waste valuable fish real estate with bread that offers little more than empty, unsatisfying carbs? Why detract from a flakey, succulent slab of hot haddock or pollock with a dry, mass-produced roll? Admittedly, not every fish fry sandwiches its offerings, but those that do could benefit financially by asking “bread or no bread?”

Lastly, perhaps provide a vegetarian or vegan option. While I’ve, to a certain degree, welcomed animal flesh back into my system, there are still those who keep it strictly plant-based, and they deserve a little taste of Lent, too. In the past, I’ve chowed down on some delicious fish alternatives, including a mushroom number temporarily sold at the now-closed B52 restaurant in Lawrenceville. Local spots like Shado Beni and Wild Rise Bakery serve up non-fish Lenten offerings, but it would be lovely to see them become more widespread and accessible.

Granted, Catholic organizations don’t need to change the way they do things, or bring me on as a genius fish fry consultant looking to disrupt the industry. Diners will still flock to their respective fry hubs even as a heathen like me complains that “fish is too big.” What’s important is that this tradition continues to bring joy and a sense of community to a lot of Pittsburghers, serving as a bright, delicious ray of light after the harsh blah of winter.

This article appears in Mar 5-11, 2025.