New Orleans Turns Lent Fish Fry Into Culinary Event Jennifer Zdon for The New York Times Volunteers served a steady stream of diners on Good Friday at St. Maria Goretti Church in New Orleans, which has been cooking up Lenten fish fries for 15 years. NEW ORLEANS - New Orleans is the land of Antoine's and Galatoire's, of trout amandine and oysters Rockefeller, of rémoulades and beurre blanc - a bastion of Old World fine dining in the United States. But on Fridays during Lent, the hottest ticket in town is not served on silver platters by white-gloved waiters. It is served up in plastic foam clamshells in church parking lots, parish halls and multipurpose rooms surrounded by a scoop of potato salad, green beans, bread pudding and a few slices of white bread in a plastic bag. The tradition of avoiding meat on Fridays during Lent may have been intended as a sacrifice, but when it comes to fried catfish in New Orleans, it is anything but. Roman Catholic churches all over the country hold fish fries to raise money during Lent, but in New Orleans the fish fry has become a citywide event. Different kitchens use the occasion as a chance to stretch their culinary skills and throw the sort of neighborhood party this city is known for. "There's a fish fry in every direction for a three-to-five-block radius," said Audrey Amos, president of the St. Augustine Catholic Church Ladies" Altar Society. It's not really a sacrifice. St. Augustine's 171-year-old church draws flocks of tourists every Sunday, but it also has one of the better-known fish fries. On Fridays, the parish hall fills up several times over as a team of older women works to fill hundreds of plates with catfish and sides. The cooks make sure to come out and greet people as they eat, and to see how they like their food. When the hall gets crowded, the cooks sometimes start to sing in the kitchen and may come out for a dance in front as well. Brass bands and local musicians have been known to stop by. Plates are $8 each, but people have a way of leaving a bit more. "There's a lot of community pride wrapped up in the fish fries," said Ian McNulty, a local food critic. It's a pretty ordinary plate of food, but sometimes the simplest things are what people take the most pride in. And because it comes from this dream team of cooks, people come all the way across town to get them. Ms. Amos remembers fish fries going back to when she was a little girl, but in recent years the practice has exploded to dozens of churches and other organizations across greater New Orleans. Some even have drive-through windows. The fish fry has become part of the rhythm of the city, coming off the bacchanalian excess that is Mardi Gras and heading into the long hot summer. Local connoisseurs will spend their Fridays driving around and sampling the different events the way they would with new restaurants. "We've been doing ours for 15 years," said Tracey Reed, a youth minister with St. Maria Goretti Church in New Orleans East. When we first started doing it, it was basically the churches. Now the schools do it, and other groups within the community do it, so we're competing. It's funny. Catholics in New Orleans have had to make tough decisions in the years since Hurricane Katrina. The shifting populations have left some parishes struggling, and other churches have been shuttered altogether. For parishes still feeling the repercussions of emptied neighborhoods, the fish fries are a way not only to foster a sense of pride and community, but also to provide extra income. "We're a poor parish," Ms. Amos said. We've outlived that mess after Katrina. But this helps supplement some of the bills that come in. Ms. Amos usually hopes to raise about $10,000 through a season of fish fries, but she does not expect to hit that target this year. The economic downturn has been hard on her community. In times like these, the fish fry can be an end in itself. "It takes a lot more than a fish fry to keep a church going," Ms. Amos said. But we make the food with a lot of love, and we serve it with a lot of love. "Sometimes working people will come back around 4:30 or 5, because we stop at 6, asking, "Am I too late?," " she said. " "Don't worry," " she tells them. " "We knew you were coming." "