As a kid, I always looked forward to Fridays during Lent. Strange, as there's nothing especially glamorous about Lent. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Being raised Irish Catholic, Lent was meant to be a solemn time of discipline, self-reflection, and sacrifice in preparation for Jesus' crucifixion on Good Friday. Not exactly uplifting or exciting. However, part of that sacrifice was abstaining from meat on Fridays. And, growing up in relative privilege, that meant every Friday for 40 days we were having one of two things for dinner - cheese pizza or, as I usually hoped, seafood. We even joked that Lent was a literal godsend for any financially struggling pizza parlors or fish markets.
In adulthood, I'm not exactly observant of my religious roots. I more consider myself to be, well, culturally Catholic best describes it. That's a whole other conversation though. However, if there's a Friday fish fry or seafood feast to be had, my piety all of the sudden comes rushing back like a true cafeteria Catholic (apologies in advance as this will certainly not be the last bad pun). Good people coming together for great food should always be blind to creed, belief, and denomination, in my opinion at least.
With this most recent Lenten season, there was one thing in particular I noticed. It may have been from an uptick in my TV viewing due to the pandemic, but for some reason, advertising for fast food fish sandwiches seemed to be incessant. Bearded fishermen in yellow slickers, blaring foghorns, hackneyed sea shanties, and rusty old tugboats were casting out each chain's catch-of-the-day everywhere, guaranteeing with one bite I'd be hooked. And what's even worse, it actually worked. They got me. Volume advertising pays off, I guess. For the those few weeks I had little else on my mind beyond fried fish sandwiches.
Attempting to research the fish sandwich, I came to realize its history is kind of a murky waters situation. I mean, any form of fish on bread could be considered a "fish sandwich." Salmon burgers, tuna melts, catfish po' boys. Internationally you've got Denmark's smørrebrød, Istanbul's balık ekmek and Northern Germany's fischbrötchen. Even lox on a bagel could be considered a fish sandwich. I don't think anyone can genuinely nail down when someone first slapped a piece of fish between two slices of bread.
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| McDonald's 1976 Filet-O-Fish Advertisement - image and much of the Lou Groen story courtesy of Smithsonian Magazine |
That being said, I believe much of our American concept of the fish sandwich is deeply rooted in McDonald's history. Fish sandwiches were probably eaten around the country long before, but McDonald's really brought them to national prominence over the last half century. And when most of us hear "fish sandwich," I'd bet the Filet-O-Fish or some iteration is what first, or at least second, comes to mind. Long story short, in 1961, a McDonald's franchisee in Cincinnati named Lou Groen saw his sales floundering on Fridays due to his location in a predominately Roman Catholic neighborhood. He noticed a nearby competitor (an older version of Bob's Big Boy actually) having great success with a fish sandwich, and decided to pitch fried halibut with tartar sauce on a bun to McDonald's CEO & Founder Ray Kroc. Groen's idea was initially spurned, mostly because Kroc wanted to push his own meatless idea of grilled pineapple and cheese called a Hula Burger. The 60's weren't exactly "woke" times in terms of naming conventions. Kroc also didn't want his stores "stunk up with the smell of fish." However, after some market testing, Groen's sandwich was switched to cod, got a piece of cheese added, was labeled the Filet-O-Fish, and sold across all Mickey D's franchises by 1965. Other food chains followed suit and the fried fish sandwich soon became a nationwide phenomenon.
So, for my own fish sandwich adventure, why not start with the inspirational source? Both the classic fish sandwich and my current obsession with it were created by the fast food world. Best to begin with the fast food versions then, right?
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| Going clockwise from top left - Carl's Jr. Popeye's, McDonald's, Burger King, Wendy's |
I won't lie, I eat fast food with some semi-regularity. Taco Bell nachos hit the spot every once in a while. Egg McMuffins are delicious. And Chick-fil-A, well, the hate does unfortunately taste great. However, this was aggressively on another level: two days, five sandwiches, and eventually, one rather upset tummy. First, I hit the big three. Burger King, Wendy's, and of course, McDonald's. Popeye's was next on the list, as their brand new Cajun Flounder Sandwich had been all the rage. Ironic, by the way, as Popeye's has publicly bashed "squished fish patties on a bun" for years while advertising their Shrimp Tackle Box. Who would have guessed that fast food chains, our society's bastions of integrity, would sell out? Lastly, I finished with Carl's Jr., mostly because it was close by. I wanted to try Arby's Crispy Fish, but the closest location was a 45 minute drive away. With a 6-month-old baby boy at home, the decadent days of two hour road trips just for a sandwich are currently on hiatus. Arby's fish sandwich will have to remain my white whale, for now.
I didn't want to ramble on, paragraph after paragraph, talking about fast food. But not providing some breakdown of these five sandwiches would be a disservice. A table felt most appropriate. So, in no specific order, here's my truncated analysis:
|
Chain |
Sandwich |
Price sandwich only pre-tax |
Pros |
Cons |
Score |
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Red Hook Beer Battered Fish Sandwich |
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Crispy beer batter crust was a nice texture and best exterior of the five. Fish was also noticeably flaky. |
Most off-putting stale yet squishy bun and wilted lettuce of the bunch. The fish alone is what saved the sandwich. |
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The BK Big Fish Sandwich |
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Pretty forgettable all around. Flavorless fish farce with no real texture and the tartar sauce was way too sweet. Also the wilted lettuce was upsetting. |
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Crispy Panko Fish Sandwich |
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A little too much going on. Similar fish farce to BK with no texture, but had flavor. And cheese on fish sandwiches makes no sense to me at all. |
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Cajun Flounder Sandwich |
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Best seasoned of the five. Pickles were wonderful. Flaky and well textured fish. |
It seemed the same dredge recipe as the fried chicken. So while very flavorful, the flounder’s moisture compromised the crust's integrity. |
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Filet-O-Fish Sandwich |
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Steamed bun was very good and a decent, tangy tartar sauce in comparison to the others. |
As expected from past experience, fishiest of the five, not in a good way. Again, cheese on fish? WTF? I’ll never get it. |
NA3 |
1Carl’s
Jr. and McDonald’s say the sandwiches cost in the $3.69 to $3.89 range, but there are fluctuations in franchise pricing
2 The BK Big Fish Sandwich is part of the 2 for $5 deal,
so you can technically get two fish sandwiches for $5.00 before taxes
3The Filet-O-Fish is its own thing. And while not good, you know what you’re getting and you kind of like it – like most
fast food really
With the fast food chains out of the way, it was time to move on to the high quality, local fish sandwiches. Surely, given the Bay Area's acumen for all things culinary, there had to be some great ones. I began doing my research, and to great disappointment, there really wasn't much. A few cutty fish fry places here and there, and a very intriguing, but COVID-closed place named Masabaga in Oakland. Hook Fish Co. in San Francisco and Fish in Sausalito do their spins on a fish sandwich, but not the classic style. Also, hopefully Masabaga reopens soon because that fried tuna belly sandwich with yuzukosho aioli and sesame cracker looks absolutely delightful. But where were all the others? Why has the fish sandwich been seemingly reserved to fast food chains? Just look at the dearth of options on a few, simple, web searches. Mostly fried chicken spots, delis, or Red Lobster-esque places.
Looking across the country, there were a couple celebrated versions, but not many. I sought out a Cuban style one in Miami's Little Havana a year back. Mainly I just saw other regional fast food chains and their fish sandwiches. If you know of any legit establishments making them, please share as I've surely missed a few. I can certainly sell a post-pandemic trip to Charleston, Milwaukee, San Diego or any other city under the auspices of a family vacation. It'll be our little secret that it's truly for the fish sandwich.
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| Masabaga's Tuna Belly Burger - courtesy of San Francisco Chronicle |
After much thought, I still couldn't figure out why the classic fish sandwich wasn't more contemporarily popular. Sadly, they're overlooked and underappreciated. But with such great potential for flavor and quality, they shouldn't be. Maybe because the main association with them is fast food? Sure, there are some vestigial restaurants from the 1970's around where you can still find one. You know, those places named "The Rusty Scupper" or "Sindbad's" that have marlins and ships' helms all over the walls. But you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who considers "The Clam Tavern" to be on the cutting edge of what's fashionable in food. You'll find it as a special at a few trendier places occasionally, especially for the Lenten "fish sandwich season," but rarely as a staple. And it can't be the health concerns of fried foods. Fish 'n' chips is as popular as ever. Plus, we've got the fried chicken sandwich renaissance that's been happening the past few years. There are the fast food-centric "chicken wars," but we've seen the sandwich's popularity gain significant momentum on the local, celebrity, and high brow chef levels. In the Bay Area alone we've got Flybird, The Organic Coup, The Bird, and World Famous HotBoys, not to mention the numerous pop-ups I always hear about. And there are several celebrity chefs opening up chicken sandwich spots like David Chang's Fuku, Michael Mina's Tokyo Hot Chicken, and Sean Brock's Joyland. Why isn't the fish sandwich getting any well-deserved love? Where are all the trendy fish sandwich shops with names like "Port & Hull," "Dock 22," and "Fins or Tails?" Where's "Crow's Nest Cod Sandwiches" by Jamie Oliver?
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| Not quite like the commercials, eh? |
I might be onto something here. Perhaps the fish sandwich will be the next big food craze. I say fried chicken sandwiches have jumped the shark and it's the humble fish sandwich's time to shine. Maybe not, but one can always hope. Either way, I knew I had to try my hand at a homemade fish sandwich. First though, in attempting my own, the drive-thru fish sandwich escapades had provided a few key takeaways (told you the terrible puns wouldn't stop):
1) A local, fresh filet of fish. Pretty obvious one. Those fish stick type mash ups were not pleasant. A white and flaky yet well textured fish like California halibut or rock fish would probably be best, based on my location. And being a sustainable fisheries evangelist, no way I could do anything less than a responsibly caught and sourced fish for my sandwich. Yes, I am aware the five sandwiches I'd just eaten were by no means sustainable, despite what they claim. Pulling entire schools of pollock with their by-catch from the Bering Sea isn't exactly ecologically friendly. We're all hypocrites from time to time. I know I am. This was in the name of research, at least.
2) Beer batter or a slurry for the fish's fried exterior. Any sort of panko, flour, or bread crumb coating doesn't expand enough to maintain the crunchy texture when adhered to the moisture-filled fish. Also, the steam produced once between the bun quickly breaks down any crispiness a bread crumb crust may have. Popeye's sandwich proved both these flaws, whereas Carl's Jr. demonstrated a slurry was the way to go for optimal crunch. Add "a salt and batter-y" charges to my fish sandwich's rap sheet.
3) A steamed bun, probably brioche. Despite the issues with the Filet-O-Fish, the steamed bun was quite enjoyable. Popeye's bun was also essentially steamed, due to the tin foil packaging it comes in. A softer bun, produced from steaming, would go well in contrast to the crunchy, craggily fried fish. The fish, after all, should be the focus, and I wouldn't want to take away from that with crusty French bread or a chewy sourdough.
4) Pickles only, maybe a slaw. Again, the steam and moisture from the fish once in the bun break down any fresh toppings like lettuce and they become wilted messes. Nobody wants that. Pickles or a vinegary cabbage slaw wouldn't break down from the steam, so they'd hold their texture and add a bright, acidic bite to cut the richness of the fish. And of course, definitely no damn processed American cheese.
5) Light on the sauce. I will admit I'm not a huge tartar sauce fan to begin with, but all five sauces ranged between mediocre to outright disgusting. Sweet relish and mayo is just kind of gross from the start. And the obnoxious drenching that each sandwich got of it was very disheartening. However, a light coating could compliment well. This really would be the wild card, too. I could see a nice tartar-type sauce coming together with fresh cucumber, dill, citrus and some sour cream. An Old Bay or Cajun aioli could work well, or even a malt vinegar one. Or perhaps just a dollop of cultured butter. I wouldn't want the sauce to overtake the fish, but it could definitely amplify the whole sandwich.
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| Batter Notes |
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| Batter Testing |
When the day finally arrived, I intently selected several condiments, seasonings, and sauces from my pantry and fridge. Claussen's dill pickles, homemade mayonnaise, purple and green cabbage, Athletic Brewery Golden Ale, pickled jalapeños, Old Bay, Four Monk's malt vinegar, and more. I then headed out to pick up a few key ingredients. First, freshly baked brioche burger buns from Firebrand Bakery in Oakland. Next, California halibut and rock fish from Tokyo Fish Market in Berkeley. And lastly, a yuzukosho-inspired Spicy Citrus condiment from INNA Jam in Emeryville. I'd tried some at my sister's house a while back and thought it might make the perfect tartar sauce replacement when mixed with aioli. A combination of Meyer lemon and habanero chilis with vinegar, salt and sugar, it's a great compliment to something as simple as grilled chicken thighs or as complicated as homemade Kaiseki dinners. Give it a try if you can. I promise you won't be disappointed. Anyway, with all ingredients in hand, off to Rizzi's house I headed.
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| Outdoor frying is always preferred #FrySafe |
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| The Descanso Way Fish Sandwich |
Firebrand brioche buns came fresh out of the steamer and received a light spread on both sides of the INNA Jam spicy citrus aioli. I thick sliced the Claussen's dill pickles and mixed shredded green cabbage with a little bit of the jalapeño pickle brine to make a simple slaw. The golden crisped halibut and rock fish portions were then placed on the buns and the whole sandwich came together. It tasted quite delicious, I must say. Rizzi, admirably ever the perfectionist, saw slight areas for improvement on the batter and frying process, but all in all it was damn good. Each cooking experience should also be a learning experience. One can, and always should, try to improve. However, the sharp acidity and crunch from the pickles and slaw, richness and crispness of the fish, and the spicy brightness from the habanero citrus ailoi, all gently hugged into a soft, steamy brioche bun made for one pleasant sandwich on a warm Sunday afternoon. The only thing better was the company, of course. Who knows, maybe we'll look back at this day and say this was when fish sandwich finally started to get its due place at the literal and proverbial table. I can certainly say it's got its rightful place at mine from now on.
Again, big thanks to Dana for much of the photography and Rizzi for the cooking assist.
Cheers,
The SF Oyster Nerd
This is a very good blog post.
ReplyDeleteI know of three pretty good ones in DC: Horace and Dickie's, Hank's Oyster Bar, and Ivy City Smokehouse.
Let's eat them when you're here.
Nice, I've been to all three places, but only had the sandwich at the old Horace & Dickie's off H-Street (closed now I think). Would love to return to Ivy City Smokehouse for a smoked fish platter again and a fish sandwich.
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