Caleb Westphal hasn’t missed a Friday fish fry since 2013. Follow his never-ending adventures—sponsored by Miller High Life—HERE. This week, fish fry #555: The Station Pub & Grill in Pewaukee, Wisconsin.
As if the parking lot hadn’t tipped me off enough—I had found a spot in the far back in front of a dumpster, and made a bet the garbage wasn’t going to be picked up on a Friday night—the line, or coagulation, rather, of people by the sign just inside the door at The Station Pub & Grill (W226 N3013, Duplainville Rd., Pewaukee; 262-695-5300) signaled that my 5:20 p.m. arrival time was nowhere near early enough, and that this was a place to arrive at well before 5. Patrons jockeyed for position around me while eyeing the bar area for sight of a host so they could get their name in first. One couple discussed if they should go to the Cue Club instead. A few people walked out.
After maybe five minutes, I was able to put my name in, and I made sure to say that I’d be satisfied sitting at a seat at the bar, where half the seating appeared to be anyway. Patrons were being told that it might take a half an hour to get a seat and that it would be another 45 minutes or an hour for food. The Station is direct and honest about the possibility of long wait times. Not only are their workers direct, but the warning is written on their welcome sign and on their menu. The early evening wait could have been because all their food is made to order, which they attribute it to, or because of the $1-off early bird Friday fish fry special they run from 3-5, but what I wanted to find out was if it also was because of how great the fish fry was.
I sauntered to the bar to get an Old Fashioned, and as I was waiting to order I heard one worker say to another that a couple and I were (surprisingly) already up next for bar seating. As the drink was brought back to me I was told I was the next to be seated. The message appeared to be directed towards me and the man and his wife standing next to me.
“We were here before you,” the hungry man told me.
“I think she was talking about both of us,” I responded.
Not wanting to hover behind people who were close to leaving their seats, or to get between a hungry man and his prospective seat—after 554 Friday fish frys in a row I’ve found you always get the fish in the end—I instead turned my focus to the Old Fashioned ($4.50) and looked at some old pictures on the walls. The drink was nothing spectacular. I gave it a stir to balance it out, bringing out some of the sweetness from its lightly muddled bottom.
In something like five minutes, I had circled back where I started and set down the glass. A bartender took the glass and returned about 30 seconds later with another Old Fashioned. The look on my face must have been of confusion.
“Did you not want another one?” (I didn’t.)
“I’ll take it!” I chirped anyway. No Old Fashioneds shall go to waste.
So there I was, with a second, unplanned Old Fashioned. It was better than the first, and heavier on the brandy, too. I walked around a bit more and when I came back to where I had been standing a guy who had just gotten a beer said, “We’re next. She said we get the two seats when those two women get up by the bar.” He introduced himself, and moments later the seats opened up and we were in them. It had been just more than 20 minutes since I had arrived. (The hungry man and his wife had already been seated. I’m not certain how that unfolded, but it appeared some additional seats had opened earlier than expected and they took them.)
The Friday specials at the Station are beer battered cod (two-piece for $12/ three-piece for $13), perch ($15), bluegill ($15), walleye ($18), a Sampler Platter ($18/ with one cod, two perch, and one walleye), baked cod (two-piece for $12.50/ three-piece for $13.50/ melted butter for 50 cents), and a fish sandwich with baked or beer battered cod ($11). Dinners come with the usual Friday fixings and the potato choices are potato pancakes or crinkle cut fries, with a baked potato option for an additional 75 cents starting at 4 p.m. Added bonus: jumbo fried shrimp can be added to a meal for $1.50 each.
My new Friday fish fry buddy and I got our orders in quickly—the Sampler Platter with potato pancakes for me—and were then in for the long slog. The Monterey 2024 Car Auction from Mecum Auctions was on some of the TVs, and we spent the better part of an hour watching it and talking about classic cars, of which I know much less than I wish I did. One of the workers mentioned to another that they were already out of clam chowder, and my hopes rose and immediately plunged when I realized I had forgotten to check for and order it moments earlier, but that it didn’t matter now because it was gone.
A storm was kicking up outside, and the room started to darken. It reminded me of a ferocious downpour that took place outside of the Elias Inn when I was having a fish fry with Senator Baldwin in May, and I thought of the sentiments I shared about that night: about how I go to restaurants in Democratic and Republican strongholds and will continue eating fish frys alongside Republicans and Democrats. This week I was clearly in a Republican stronghold and undoubtedly eating alongside mostly Republicans. Signs for Ron Johnson, Eric Hovde, and Donald Trump hung in the window along with one that said “Proud Gun Owner And I Vote,” and a Ronald Reagan quote hung inside on the wall. But beyond the conspicuous partisanship, messages of support for veterans were found throughout the restaurant—the Station even hosts a yearly golf outing for the Fisher House of Wisconsin, raising money for veterans and their families—and it was hard to look in any direction without seeing multiple American flags.
The second Old Fashioned gone, and feeling more than two drinks deep on an empty stomach, I ordered an O’Doul’s Amber to go with my fish and nursed it as the car auction kept playing and the room noise continued to border on boisterous. In front of me, past the bottle of Evan Williams Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey, past the giant jar of pull tab discards, was the window to the kitchen and the kitchen door, which continually swung open and closed. I kept my eyes close to the window and longed for dinner.
“Perch?” a bartender asked, as she floated a plate of fish in front of me, about an hour after I had sat down.
“No, the combo,” I replied, as I looked over the plate.
“It’s all the same,” she said, referencing the beer batter, which the menu proclaims “is made in-house using a special blend of our draft beers.”
Indeed, it was the sampler platter, and the batter did all look the same, but I quickly noticed the potato pancakes were missing. I told the bartender, who went back to the kitchen and then came back to check my plate again because the kitchen was certain they had given them to me, and then went back to the kitchen to once again tell them they hadn’t. I again fixated my eyes on the window, and within a few minutes the pancakes landed on the counter.
What was a rather inauspicious start to the fish fry—the rye bread was somewhat stale and lifeless—became one of the best fish frys of recent memory after a commanding turnaround. The coleslaw and potato pancakes raised the bar to get me closer to the glory that was to come. The sharp and spicy diced cabbage made sure the slaw would be noticed and appreciated, despite its modest size. The prodigal pancakes were crisp-edged, with a stringlike, hashbrown-evoking interior and an onion-centered familiarity.
I ate my meal in 12 minutes after waiting close to an hour and a half for it, but during that 12 minutes I came close to finding a piscine holy grail. The cod, perch, and walleye were all meaty and fresh. The cod was as flavorful as cod can be. While the perch was somewhat more mild-mannered in flavor, its beefy composition kept it afloat. What the perch had hidden in built-in flavor, the walleye brought out resoundingly. Covering all four pieces was a crisp, lip-smacking, home kitchen cooking batter that wouldn’t let up and that would assuredly be decried by health professionals and send them scrambling if they happened upon it. The tartar was purifying, and wrapped the fish in an extra thick layer with a pickley crunch. There was not one, but two cups of it, as should be the case with every plate of fish. Together, the fish, its batter, and the tartar were close to outstanding.
Despite it only being about a half an hour drive from home, I’d never been to the Station Pub & Grill, nor heard anything about their fish fry besides knowing that they had one. An hour and a half is a long time to wait for a fish fry, but in this case it was worth it. This was almost entirely on account of the fish, its batter, and the tartar, which I assume was the culprit of the long wait in the first place. When I walked outside I found that, yes, it had rained. But when I looked up I also spotted a rainbow. A long wait with a fish fry at the end of it; a rain storm with a rainbow at the end of it, too. I followed the rainbow home, and looked forward to another week to follow fish.
Takeaways: Sharp slaw; pleasant pancakes; excellent lip-smacking and home kitchen cooking beer batter; three fronts of high caliber fish; purifying tartar; get there early and have an Old Fashioned (or two), because the wait is long, but I doubt you’ll be disappointed; there’s a free, 18-hole soccer golf course in the back you can hit up afterwards to burn off some of the calories.
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