Robin Wheeler

A day of humility. A day of reflection. A day to converge in a church basement and devour fried fish and beer.

Churches all over St. Louis mark the beginning of Lent today with traditional Vatican II-friendly dinners open to the public. In return for a few bucks, expect fried and baked fish, fried shrimp and less pescavorian options like mac & cheese, spaghetti, and cheese pizza, all served cafeteria-style.

Last year Gut Check went on a Lenten fish fry frenzy, visiting a different church fish fry every Friday. Now it's your turn.

Here's a roundup of some St. Louis-area churches hosting Ash Wednesday fish fries tonight...

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Robin Wheeler

The holy trinity: Cod, mac & cheese, potato salad. Oh, yeah, and Busch. Make that the holy fournity.

Many churches don't fry on Good Friday, but St. Joan of Arc does. They're the workhorse of St. Louis fish-fry scene. The long cafeteria's arranged to accommodate lengthy lines. Carry-out to the left, dine-in on the right, and keep it moving.

Once the line hits a certain point, St. Joan volunteers have been known to pass out free beer. Get there early and it's only $2 a can.

St. Joan's advertises that everything is homemade, but the fried cod looks and tastes a lot like the frozen triangles. The catfish, however, looks like the real hand-breaded deal. Two fellow diners vouch for its deliciousness.

The side dishes are where it's at. They're definitely homemade and among the best on the scene. Macaroni and cheese studded with a heavy dose of black pepper stands out, as do the al dente and flavorful green beans. The cole slaw's colorful and creamy. But the Irish potatoes are a must. Boiled red potatoes drip with butter, parsley and a little garlic, so tender they crumble under a plastic fork.

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Robin Wheeler

Don't judge a fish fry by its cover. Tacos and guacamole, baby!

St. Cecilia's in south city gets all the attention when it comes to the Mexican fish fry, but it's not the only local Catholic church that caters to a large Mexican congregation. Near the city-limits line that separates Cool Valley from Ferguson, tiny Our Lady of Guadalupe brings the Lenten fiesta to north county.

The signs here aren't as slick as the ones at St. Mary Magdalen's. But they're sweet and earnest, giving no clue to the treasures inside the church basement.

There's no line early in the evening, so volunteers have time to explain the dishes if the photos of each item aren't enough. There's Midwest fish fry staples: flaky cornmeal-breaded cod loins, the usual sides and, at long last, hush puppies!

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Church fish frys don't have marketing budgets. But at St. Mary Magdalen in Brentwood, they've at least got someone with a sense of humor and an eye for cute graphics. Why else would they have yard signs dotted with colorful fish, proclaiming, "God's Cod!" with their fish fry times?

Robin Wheeler

Now that's what we call God's Cod!

It doesn't stop at the signs. Inside, volunteers sport the God's Cod! logo on pale blue T-shirts and aprons. They meet us at the door, selling cans of Bud and plastic cups of boxed wine. In case the line's too long, later a man walks by, selling beer from a gallon tub filled with ice. On top of the cans, little plastic containers filled with something colorful.

We joked about Jell-O shots at Epiphany last week. Surely it's not ...

Later, a woman in one of the T-shirts walks by with a half hotel pan. We ask what's inside.

Oh yes.

St. Mary Magdalen has Jell-O shots. God's Cod with a side of Satan's Gelatin!

She always was my favorite saint.

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A church with a bowling alley's a bit out of the ordinary. Epiphany of Our Lord Catholic Church is also a school, though.

What? Your school didn't have eight lanes and an arcade with a smoking lounge and bar? Or a Lenten fish fry in the gym next door?

Robin Wheeler

Having learned from last week's St. Pius melee, we arrived early and joined the line, which was already long. Members of a Girl Scout troop patrolled the queue with boxes of cookies for sale. Not that there's enough time to snack. The line at Epiphany moves quickly and begins with the dessert table.

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Updated 3/8/10 by Robin Wheeler: Robin Wheeler is not Catholic and has questionable knowledge of the saints (at best). The namesake of the South Grand church, St. Pius V, was a 16th-century pontiff. He instilled the Feast of the Rosary and battled the Turks, which was probably pretty exhausting. The piece below refers to St. Pius X.

St. Pius, a Venetian who served as pope for 11 years in the early 20th century, was a big fan of the Eucharist. He encouraged the faithful to receive Holy Communion often.

It's only fitting, then, that the Tower Grove East church that bears his name would have a Friday fish fry line stretching through the building, out the door and halfway down the block at 6 p.m.

Not for wine and wafers, but for fried cod and beer.

Perhaps word spread from last year, when St. Pius was a stop on Steven Smith's STL Fish Fry Crew. Or the recent surge in fish-fry media coverage. Or perhaps word's finally traveled about St. Pius' spicy jalapeño tartar sauce, availability of Schlafly bottles and live Irish music.

Whatever happened, the church couldn't have predicted the swarm of people -- church members and interlopers alike -- who would cram into the snaking basement hallway and spill onto the street despite the blustery wind.

At 6:20 the message came from a church volunteer. They were out of cod.

Image credit

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With deep roots in German Catholicism, fried fish is the official Friday-afternoon smell throughout Belleville, Illinois. Every Friday during Lent, St. Henry Catholic Church joins the fish fry fray.

Fight the tiny, congested parking lot in front of the learning center's gymnasium, or prepare to take a small hike from the back parking lot, because it's busy.

Enter the crowded gym, turn left, procure a $2 can of Bud Light or Bud Select via the concession-stand window, then turn right and get into the snaky line. If you're carrying out, skip the line and follow the signs to the to-go window.

St. Henry doesn't offer entertainment beyond good people-watching and raffles for a hand-embroidered baby blanket and a Wii. Fish fry's more about visiting with friends and strangers than dinner theater.

The menu doesn't provide many surprises. Fried cod cut-ups are available in one-pound or half-pound increments, in sandwiches or as a plate with two sides. Opting for something not fried? There's a salmon encrusted with sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts on the menu, though no one appeared to be ordering it.

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