Vintage

 February 2010
articles:

     The Bramble Bush has a history with our family. It was called Conroy’s in the earlier days. My high school French teacher, Madame Conroy, owned the business with her husband.  My parents had always been loyal patrons of the restaurant.  When my sisters and I were young, sleeping in our upstairs dormitory room, some nights we were awakened by the smell of fried fish and onions wafting up through our heat vent.  We’d holler down the stairs, “What’s that smell?”, which led to “Can we have a bite?”  Mom and Dad would usually give in and we’d traipse down the stairs, get our bite of their Conroy’s fish sandwich, then reluctantly head back to bed.  My dad often went on secret missions at night, after we were tucked in and supposedly asleep, to bring back exotic snacks like hot tamales, fish, or Sam’s Popcorn. The fried fish was what always woke us up. It was one of those good smells, comparable to when we are in the parking lot at the mall enjoying the aroma of the broilers cooking the hamburgers that we are not supposed to eat, or bread being freshly baked. Madame Conroy sure knew how to cook fish! I never did ask her the secret recipe because we had to communicate with her in French. I could have asked the question, but understanding the answer might have led to a cod fish disaster.     

      Our family worried when Conroy’s was sold and became The Bramble Bush, that the fish would not be the same. The sandwich consisted of two large breaded cod fillets that look like hunks of real fish, not squares of white mush, served on a bun with whatever we wanted on it. It was unanimous in our family to have ketchup, onion, and dill pickle. The sandwich was sustenance enough for a meal. The restaurant was located along a railroad track, had red vinyl booths, and chrome kitchen tables and chairs. We could count on it to always be the same. Thankfully, when the business changed hands, the new owners kept things the way they had always been.      
     

       Larry and I moved to Crawfordsville in 1972, but over the years have returned to The Bramble Bush when we have a hankering for that fish sandwich. We had to be in Terre Haute this summer so we stopped in for lunch. The room looked the same. The chrome tables had been replaced with wooden ones, and the booths were newer. The paneling was still on the walls, which were covered with pictures of the local high schools before the 1971 consolidation, stars of the 1960’s, and senior class pictures of people who must now belong to AARP. Everything looked pretty much the same. We ordered our sandwiches and there they were… big, golden, crispy fillets. They tasted the same! We asked the server, who was also the daughter of the owner, how they kept the taste consistent year after year. After thinking for a while, she said, “I think it is the fryer. It’s big, old, and the same one that’s always been here.” (She was talking about the kettle, not the cook)  

      There you have it. The secret to a great fish sandwich. We’ll keep searching the county for the elusive cod fillet sandwich, but in the meantime, we’ll have to head south every once in a while to enjoy the real thing! 

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