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This just in from Barb Wasko in Englewood, refering to my prattling on about Friday fish fries and the Pope in my recent review of the British Bulldog:

Fish on Friday -- boy, did that ever bring back some memories! Yes, I am a "recovering Catholic." Grew up in Omaha, Nebraska. Tess's fish on Friday. Breaded carp that was deep fried. Rye bread. The best sliced dill pickles in the world. I guess the place closed a few years back. Darn, I could go for some.

I have yet to set foot in the British Bulldog. I really want to go; just have to drag the right friends in there. Soccer on the weekends sounds good. I played soccer years ago. They wouldn't let the girls play flag football -- too hard on us poor girls, so they had us play soccer.

Thanks for the great article. I know you get flak all the time for your column and what you write, but damn, you are a good writer.

Thanks, Barb. I appreciate the kind words and the reminder that it wasn't just us mutt denominations back East who suffered (or reveled) in the whole culture that attends the Friday fish fry.

Carp, though? Man, that's strange. You got kind of a weird Jewish/Catholic thing going there (carp often being used for the making of gefilte fish), but I do sorely want to make a run now to Omaha to check out this particular regional derivation. Nebraska, home of the carp-on-rye sandwich... -- Jason Sheehan


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