This meal reminds me of my hometown in rural upstate New York, and it’s one of the things I couldn’t wait to share with my husband, Les, when we did a drive-by on our solar eclipse-chasing trip to Canada last year. I served up many a fish fry myself during the mid-1980s when I waited tables in a now-closed restaurant called The Cottage, just before I packed up my vinyl albums, Aqua Net hairspray and my cat to move to North Carolina. But my strongest memories of fish fry all happened in a nondescript white house on a side street in my hometown— the American Legion.

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Nearly everyone in my town of 1,200 was a member of the Legion, either by direct military experience or auxiliary membership from a relative’s service. Families gathered there for anniversary dinners and retirement parties and to celebrate the lives of loved ones passed. Technically, it was considered a private club; we had to hit a little doorbell button by the back door that triggered a buzzer for the bartender, and then you’d wait for the click that signaled the lock had been released and you were welcome to enter. Why it had to be such a fuss, I don’t know.

The Legion smelled as old as its furnishings looked. Not musty, but with the lingering aroma of spilled draft beer, frying oil and, in those days, cigarette smoke. It was a popular gathering spot for folks after work and on weekends. And the place was always jumping from open to close on Fridays and Saturdays, when everyone’s order was the same. Fish fry, please!

The same is true for Davidson’s Restaurant in nearby Lakewood, New York— except that they serve fish fry every day—  and that’s where Les was introduced to this culinary experience on our eclipse vacation last year. I had talked it up so much, and I was hoping that it would be all that I remembered. Well, Davidson’s did not disappoint. The deep-fried exterior was perfectly crunchy, and the fish inside was tender, flaky and moist. Believe it or not, this was the lunch portion.

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Not the same as “fish and chips”

I’d dare say that if Buffalo wings had not come along, it would have been this beer-battered fish that Western New York would have become famous for. It’s a far cry different from the cornmeal-crusted fried fish we see throughout North Carolina, and not even quite the same as the beer-battered cod you’d find in a typical Irish pub. Haddock is the seafood of choice, a North Atlantic whitefish that is tender and flaky, a bit more “fishy” than cod. The fillets are long and slender, and I chose to cut them into smaller pieces so they were more portion-appropriate, and also so that they would fit in the Dutch oven I would be using for frying.

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To minimize the fishy smell (and taste), follow my lead and soak the fillets in milk for 20 minutes. The odorous compounds in the fish will cling to the milk proteins, leaving the fillets mild and sweet. This is the first time I’ve done this step, and it will be the new standard, as it also reduced the smell of fried fish in the house after this meal. Take note, though, that this step is not meant to “save” any fish that is past its freshness range; this is an optional step for less fish smell in general.

What about this beer batter?

I’ve lost count of how many conversations I’ve had with my Aunt Joy, my fellow fish fry aficionado, about our trials and errors on the beer batter. Did the batter need egg? How thick should it be? Should it be a certain kind of beer or could you use other liquids? We had a lot of questions! 

Aunt Joy gets most of the credit for the testing, for all the experiments she set up trying to achieve that familiar, crispy texture we both remember so well. She discovered that egg made the batter too heavy, putting a dense, cake-like coating on the delicate fish, and she narrowed down that beer was indeed the right thing. She even tried a recipe that I forgot I had given her, which called for a shot of vodka in the batter. I suppose this might have the same effect as vodka in a pastry dough, though I truly can’t remember whether I’ve tried it myself.

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All this testing resulted in the batter I used this time, and it was perfect! Self-rising flour, which already includes baking powder and salt, is the base for it. A couple of tablespoons of corn starch in the mix ensures a light, crispy finish, and a few shakes of sweet paprika lend a nice color and a hint of bright flavor. After whisking this together, I spooned out enough to dredge the haddock fillets, then returned the flour to the batter bowl. Keep the beer (light lager or pilsner-style) on ice until you’re ready to fry.

Time to fry the fish!

May I recommend, if you choose to make this fish fry, consider not trying to also do deep-fried french fries. Stick with oven fries or some other side, so that you can focus on getting the fish right. You won’t be sorry, and you’ll only have to wait for the oil to reach temperature once.

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Keep the beer ice cold until go time, and whisk the batter only long enough to achieve a smooth consistency. Dip the flour-dredged haddock into the batter, lifting to allow the excess to drip off before gently placing it into the hot oil. Let it bubble and fry for about six minutes (it goes quick!), or until the batter is a deep golden color with frilly, crispy edges all over. 

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Use a spider utensil to lift the fillets onto a paper-lined cookie sheet, and season immediately with salt. For a true, Western New York experience, serve with French fries, creamy coleslaw and an ice cold beer.