Caleb Westphal hasn’t missed a Friday fish fry since 2013. Follow his never-ending adventures HERE. This week: fish fry #649, at Andrea’s Red Rooster in Waukesha, Wisconsin.
Cloudy memories fading in and out. I’d been here before, right? I couldn’t place myself in the space. It looked nothing like I remembered it, not that I remembered much. I recall a red building and red and white checkered tablecloths. Did I eat here, or had I taken the fish fry to go? I had been working a summer job in the area that year, so I was nearby and maybe just took the fish home. I looked up the date I was there and checked the address. Yep, same address, I had been here. What was going on that week? Oh, my grandpa was dying of cancer. It was his last Friday alive, August, 12, 2016. No more fish frys. Is that why I can’t remember? Death at the doorstep? Cloudy memories fading in and out.
There was plenty of time to sit with the memories, to try to remember moments in a life passing by, as I waited for a table. The host had suggested I eat at the bar, telling me there were eight tables ahead of me, and by the look on her face, that’s what she wanted me to do. But on most Fridays I don’t mind the wait. In fact, I often want the wait, the time to sort through the past, to think, to revisit. “In this Chautauqua I would like not to cut any new channels of consciousness but simply dig deeper into old ones that have become silted in with the debris of thoughts grown stale and platitudes too often repeated,” Robert Pirsig wrote in Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance. Dig deeper into old channels of consciousness, yes, there isn’t much time to do that anymore, so the channels have become pretty silted with debris. But one time to do it is during a long wait for a fish fry. At least, there’s some time for that in between the time I’m trying to pay attention to my surroundings so I have something to report back about a restaurant for this column.
Bill Grabo converted the farmhouse that is now home to Andrea’s Red Rooster (N14W22032 Watertown Rd., Waukesha; 262-574-1230) into a speakeasy and dance hall in 1927. Bill and Shirley Kutschenreuter bought it from him in 1963 and opened it as the Red Rooster Inn, and it stayed in the family for almost four decades. Shirley passed away in 1986 and Bill in 1992. Their son Tom owned it until passing away in 1998, and his widow Vicki sold it to Tim Musson and Dennis Barton in 2002. They opened it as Andrea’s Red Rooster in July 2002, naming it after Musson’s late daughter. Natasha and Kory Koput have owned it since 2020.
It was just after 5:15 and most of the tables were in use, as were most of the barstools. I ordered an NA beer to sip on during the wait, and spent my time wandering a few feet here or there or leaning on the doorframe, all alone and looking like a fish out of water, while my mind endeavored to remember the past and ruminated on death, the passage of time, and where the hell the checkered tablecloths had gone. After Lit’s “My Own Worst Enemy” played, it was the Highwaymen’s “Highwayman.” I’ll find a place to rest my spirit if I can. Perhaps I may become a highwayman again. Or I may simply be a single drop of rain. Ah, that’s better, more my speed, more in line with my thoughts at the moment. I contemplated going to the complimentary popcorn machine. By the time it hit 6 p.m. my stomach was rumbling. I glanced at the TV. Trump was on, talking in Chippewa Falls about how he gets farmers, about how he gets working people, about how he gets us. Cripes. I looked away. I glanced again. There was Senator Baldwin on the screen. Hey, I had a fish fry with her.
Just shy of an hour after I had walked in, I was seated at a table and a worker came by and handed me a menu. Not that I needed it. In addition to everything else I thought about during the wait, I had decided I was going to get the bluegill and clam chowder. The menu didn’t list the potato choices, nor did the sign on the wall, so I had to wait until I placed my order to make my choice. For the record, Andrea’s Red Rooster’s kitchen is open from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. on Fridays and offers the following “Fish Fry Friday” options: beer battered cod (two-piece for $11.99 or three-piece $13.99), baked cod (available after 4pm, $14.99), bluegill ($15.99), and walleye (grilled or fried, $17.99). The “potato” choices are fries, haystack onions, potato pancakes, and baked potato. I was on the cusp of ordering the haystack onions—I saw some being brought to a table and was intrigued—but just couldn’t abandon my beloved homemade potato pancakes.
I had ordered a cup of chowder, but was brought a bowl. The menu said cups were $4 and bowls $6, but I was charged $5. But the most important part is I was asked if I wanted it right away, and it was brought to me in a minute or two. The base had a salty tang to it and was very smooth, and there was lots of it. It was so hot temperature-wise that at times it was hard to tell where the thermal heat ended and where the heat from the salty tang began. From what I could tell, clams, potatoes, and celery were the only contents, keeping it rather simple, with most of the flavor coming from the base. The NA beer I had been sipping on since my arrival was only a third of the way gone, and I used it to balance the heat of the chowder, and then to accompany the fish fry.
It was just shy of 6:30 by the time I got my plate. Both the rye bread and coleslaw met the bar of acceptability, if not exceeding it slightly, especially the slaw. A melty butter packet went easily on the mildly marbled, and soft and somewhat thick rye. The slaw was coated in a way that the flavor of the dressing remained on every morsel, even though the dressing was light. But the slaw’s flavor may also have resonated because green, fresh herbs (perhaps parsley?) dotted the mix, enhancing the flavor the dressing already brought to the cabbage and carrot. While it wasn’t gourmet slaw, it was more than just another cup of slaw. The potato pancakes were thin, with a crisp exterior, and were savory and somewhat reminiscent of hashbrowns in flavor. They were just fine, not disappointing nor exceptional, but I still couldn’t help but think of the haystack onions that could have been.
None of this prepared me for the greatness of the bluegill. There were six meaty pieces, each the size of the palm of a small adult hand. The batter was put together well. It was mainly on the softer side, not too thick nor too thin, with some crispness here and there, and salt, pepper, and maybe some other seasonings. But it was the beautiful bluegill beneath it that made this fish fry impossible to dismiss. Boom! A striking bluegill flavor hit me with the first bite and almost knocked me off my chair, like the bluegill had hit the worm, yanked the pole, and pulled me out of the boat with it. It was like that at the start, and it was like that in the end, not letting up once, and being that there were six big and meaty pieces, the euphoric struggle went on for more than a few minutes. Yes, this was freshly caught bluegill from a nearby crystal-clear Wisconsin lake, if not in fact then at least in my mind.
Lemon-heavy tartar brought additional excitement, but it was the bluegill that kept my attention throughout. I’ve had noteworthy bluegill before, with places like Henry Flach’s and Joe Mama’s coming to mind first. But in the moment I was eating, this was the best bluegill I had ever had at a Friday fish fry, and this thought and the taste reverberate with me still. I may have forgotten if I ate inside Andrea’s Red Rooster in 2016 or not, but this time around I won’t forget, and there will be no cloudy memory, just the memory of bluegill from a crystal-clear lake.
Takeways: Big base chowder with a salty tang; a few fresh, green herbs in lightly coated slaw; crispy, thin, and savory potato pancakes; haystack onions available as “potato” choice; the right batter; just pulled out of the lake bluegill with an indefatigable flavor; reasonable price.
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