Back in the Day: Scrod

Sometimes it’s best to begin at the beginning. My earliest love affair with food was sparked by one of the most humble of menu offerings; scrod.

In Kingsville, Ohio, a tiny town on the Great Lakes, my mom and dad religiously gathered their four children every Friday evening, piled us all into a car, and drove exactly one mile to our favorite restaurant. The target? “ A.U.C.E. Scrod Dinner w/ Rolls”.

Subsequently, as I grew older and more precocious, two things really started to bother me about that lighted marquee on the street. First, the acronym should be A.Y.C.E. Secondly, why were the rolls a selling point? They came with everything whether you wanted them or not. But, I digress.

I never realized that Scrod was such a controversial dish until college. I was waxing nostalgic with a few other foodie-inclined friends when they nearly laughed me out of the Ohio State student union. Apparently two camps were forming. One camp thought “scrod” sounded like some sort of antiquated euphemism for boy bits, while the other pretty much called me a country rube. “Scrod,” this second group pontificated, “is nothing more than local slang for ‘mystery fish’.”

Well, let’s explore the roots of the underappreciated and often maligned menu item.

The scrod I knew and loved had always been served to me in one of two ways. The first was indulgent. Cornmeal battered and deep fried planks of the dense, semi-sweet, boneless whitefish lay hot and steaming alongside a pile of crisp steak fries and a rather large ramekin of homemade tartar sauce. The second was oft considered the “healthy” option. Rich filets of butter-basted, flakey, boneless, skinless whitefish had been baked and nestled against a mammoth baked potato and steamed vegetable du jour. (This is some serious Paula Deen gastro-mathematics: steamed vegetables do not negate an entire stick of butter.)

Despite preparation, it was well known that the restaurant had just served two preparations of the same fish: Cod. Nay, it was not just cod but something far more coveted. Scrod was technically young cod that had not matured beyond three pounds at catch. It was like the veal of cod. And it was A.U.C.E. awesome.

Though a popular definition among fishing towns in the Great Lakes and along the Eastern Seaboard, many disagree with this simple definition. “It’s an acronym!” they shout. It stands for “Secured Catch Received on Dock.” In Boston parlance, this holds an air of superiority. These were the crème de la crème of the catch of the day, reserved by the fisherman for only his most select restaurant clients. Though such clients primarily preferred the density and sweetness of super-fresh cod, haddock and Pollock were two other suitable substitutions.

As this haute acronym marched its way out of the east coast and into the Midwest, it lost some of its panache. I am sure some unscrupulous restaurateurs, trying to scrape together two extra nickels to pay the grocer, took a few liberties with the substitution clause in the definition.Over time, the “known only to those in the know” mystique of this fish offering had been all but lost.

Ultimately, whether you head out for a hearty meal of young cod or strive to sample the “vintner’s select” of whitefish (regardless of species), you are really heading in the same delicious direction. Great, unpretentious, American cuisine is never without a story and often the subject of debate. But that’s what makes it fun, don’t you think?

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