It was the early 1960s, just a few years after the Mackinaw Bridge opened. My mom, grandpa, brother and I were driving the ‘Circle Tour’ around Lake Michigan, in our stationwagon. We pulled into Holland late one night, after dark. We hadn’t had supper and could not find a restaurant that was open. This was before fastfood restaurants were common. What was common, were roadside vendors selling smoked whitefish.
We checked into a motel, which had few amenities – just beds, a nightstand and a couple of wooden chairs. Grandpa set our hard suitcase atop the chairs which he had pulled together. Mom placed a motel towel over the suitcase for a tablecloth. She untied the string from the oily butcher paper that wrapped the fish. We sat on the foot of the beds, feet dangling and ate our supper. It was unlike any other meal we had on this trip, or others. The fish was good, but for a kid, the experience was even better. It was my first and most memorable meal of Michigan’s very own, smoked whitefish.
– Janet Danek