Fish fry

When I was growing up my retired grandparents loved to drag their little trailor to a lake and fish for a few days. This usually involved going some distance because we lived in west Texas, which isn't exactly the lake-region of the state.

They would make several trips of this sort and then would announce a "fish fry" for family and friends. We would gather in the back yard, a rectangle of spiky barely-alive grass surrounded by a concrete block fence.... no trees, no shrubs, no patio. My grandad would fire up a butane-powered deep fry rig and start cooking. My grandmother was in charge of everything else. It was always wonderful, and we all looked forward to these periodic gatherings.

Years later in another part of the state, my husband and I became friends with a retired couple who owned property on a nearby lake and set out trot-lines regularly. When they had amassed enough of a supply, they also hosted a fish fry for their friends, usually around Memorial Day.

The fish was the same delightfully crispy, cornmeal-battered catfish. yum. The surroundings were very different, however. These central Texas events were hosted on the lake's edge, sheltered by 40-foot tall pecan trees. The grass carpeting the area was lush and soft.

But despite the physical settings, the memorable thing about both the west Texas fish fry events and the central Texas fish fry events -- was the simple sit-around-and-enjoy-each-other feeling that permeated the evening. What a delightful break from the daily hurry-up routine.

What a delightful set of summer-time memories.