Fish Food is a Honey Hole

In the back of Modern Times, on every other Friday throughout the summer, there’s an 8x8 tent with a sign that says Fish Food. You’ll smell your destination before you see it: the indistinguishable smell of fish fry. It’s an unpretentious river-to-table affair, where fish is caught and cooked by the same person: Tyler Kutscheid.

Unlike most commercial fishermen, Kutscheid didn’t grow up in a fishing family. He was a teacher for 12 years before starting a job at Coastal Seafoods in 2023. Through that job, he learned about the commercial fishing trade on the Mississippi and was determined to break into the field with no experience. He asked fisherman after fisherman to mentor him, all of them saying no. He was determined and kept asking. One day, someone said yes. He mentored under him and then went out on his own. “It was a lot of trial and error. A lot of failing,” he told me.

“Like not catching fish?” I asked.

“Oh no,” he said, “Much worse.” He had days where the flooded river took 300-400 nets downstream, or those nets got caught in the minefield of branches under the water and got stuck for good, or there was too much of a good thing and too many fish might mean the net is too heavy to bring back onto the boat. The river is dynamic, and eventually, he got the hang of it, fishing for buffalo fish. The goal was never just to fish. It was also to host fish fries, and so he reached out to Modern Times to ask if they might be open to hosting fish fries in the back of their restaurant in 2025. They said yes and he moved in with a pop-up tent and bayou classic fryer.

Once you see Fish Fry, it feels decidedly Powderhorn. The back of Modern Times has natural, aged picnic tables, a bench which has been partially painted green, and a couple of tables with chairs starting to accumulate a tiny bit of rust.

The Fish Food sign is hung with two different gold chains, and behind the sign are two people working on cooking equipment you’re more likely to see camping than in a restaurant. Even the fryer is heated on an open flame.

Everything is carried in what I can only describe as tubs you can get at Home Depot or coolers. The menu leans against coolers and it’s often tiny: three items. On my first visit it was a flathead sandwich ($14), channel catfish fish cheeks on grits ($8), and a fennel slaw ($5). Rounding out the menu was an N/A Heineken or La Croix (I got the Heineken, because $5 for a La Croix is highway robbery, though if it was $3, I would totally order it). Other visits had similar small menus, like a filet o’ fish, smoked fish dip, and salad. The cost of the sandwich, side, and salad stayed the same no matter what they were serving.

*I normally go to restaurants five times for review. For pop-ups like these where my ability to go is more limited, I go three times.

I came to fish late in life, thinking I was allergic to them until July of 2025. After I learned I could eat them, I went all out eating fish. I didn’t just eat filets or center cuts of salmon, but I dove into the fish version of offal, or the parts of the fish that aren’t as sexy. My two favorite parts of the fish are milt (male reproductive organ) and fish cheeks–cuts that most people who have been eating fish all their lives often have not tasted. And so seeing fish cheeks on the menu meant that I put this on my calendar immediately. The texture of fish cheeks is akin to scallops, and so is the look (circular). Unlike fish, which is flaky, these tear more like beef–or a pull-apart loaf. They’re also silky, buttery, and often juicer than standard cuts of fish, which probably isn’t what you think of when you imagine the muscle that chews. Mostly, when muscles are used over and over, they become tougher. Not so here.

In other parts of the world, fish cheeks are considered a delicacy, and they’re sometimes called the filet mignon of fish, but in the US, the word “cheek” turns people away, meaning that most people who claim to be fish lovers haven’t eaten one of the best cuts of fish. The ones at Fish Food are worth ordering. Blackened channel catfish cheeks sat atop actually good grits, which are just as much a delicacy in the Midwest as rare fish cheeks. This was a rustic dish, topped with red pepper, corn, parsley, and green onion. It was hearty, putting a Midwestern spin on this dish that’s normally reserved for finer presentations. It felt perfect to be served in the back of Modern Times.

The other side I ordered had equal appeal: a smoked fish dip served with rippled chips, radish, carrot, and beet for dipping.

Ample chives were mixed in and sprinkled on top, along with tiny bits of smoked fish, but the best part of the dip was the hit of lemon. Most fishermen might hold back on the citrus, wanting the smoked fish they spent so long trying to catch to shine. But the lemon in the dip makes it taste like Not Just Another Fish Dip, but like a summer dip Molly Baz might dream up. Lemon heavy, smoke light, it was perfect for the almost 100-degree day I ate it on. These sides were always exceptional, worth ordering, and signature: things you really can’t find anywhere else.

Salads, on the other hand, needed a bit more oomph. With all of the salads, more like slaws, I wanted a bit more something. One salad advertised a lemon poppyseed dressing, but it didn’t taste like lemon or poppyseed. I wanted more acid, more salt, just… more. The “more” could have been anything: a creamier dressing, a bit more oil, a touch of vinegar, or herbs. I wanted the one non-fish item to shine, and it’s not that it would take all that much to bring it up to snuff. I wanted Kutscheid to be as bold here as he was with the fish-forward parts of his menu, trusting himself to be punchier.

Sandwiches make up for any salad faults, though. All sandwiches are served on a toasted bun, with fish poking out the sides, and the filet o’ fish was no different. My most fish-loving friend joined me to eat this sandwich. There’s no one better qualified to judge this specific sandwich than them. During Lent, they go to McDonald’s to get the two-for-$3 deal in their own words, “More than I’d like to admit.” They housed this one. When we bit into it, the crust shattered in the back of our teeth. When I asked them how it compared, they took their hands and sort of cut the air, “No comparison,” they said. Then, as if apologizing to their beloved McDonald’s sandwich, they said, “But that’s not saying the original isn’t good.”

“Sure,” I said, understanding the need to defend the classic but knowing that McDonald’s wasn’t anywhere close to the oversized cut of fresh-caught fish I had in my hands. These fish are as fresh as they get, caught on Monday, then bled, butchered, and allowed to rest before being served on Friday, letting rigor mortis pass. When fish go through rigor mortis, the enzymes in the meat break down, and they emerge more tender and meatier, meaning that you’re getting fish at its best.

My favorite sandwich I had, though, was a flathead catfish sandwich. Flathead rarely makes its way into commercial markets, because you can’t catch it at high enough volume for selling to make sense. “In order to get it,” Kutscheid told me, “You really have to buy it from someone selling it on the river.” Or, you can get it at Modern Times.

This sandwich is covered in slaw, onions, a zippy chili mayo, and ice pickles. Unlike refrigerator pickles that are named for where you pickle them, ice pickles are named for how they taste. They’re crisp, icy, crunchy. These sweet-and-sour pickles make this fish sandwich. Yes, the fish itself is excellent, but a sandwich is the sum of its parts. And these pickles took it over the top from great to best fish sandwich I’ve had in the Twin Cities. I had this sandwich twice, and both of my dining companions agreed: there are no better fish sandwiches on order, at least not ones that we’ve had.

On my first visit, we only got one of these sandwiches. But my friend and I ordered a second sandwich immediately after finishing the first one, even though my friend had a friend arriving from the airport. The sandwich was so good, they left their friend to use the door code and walk into their home alone. If that’s not a testament to how good it is, I don’t know what is. We handed the sandwich back and forth bite for bite and scooped up the bits of fish flesh that fell out of the sandwich with the last tiny pieces of bread. On my second visit, I knew better. My friend and I ordered two sandwiches.

Is there any better way to spend a hot summer Friday in Powderhorn? Me thinks not. You have a few more chances to do it: August 21st (tomorrrroooowwww), September 11th, and September 25th from 5:00pm-9:00pm. Get there early. People who follow Fish Food are devoted. You have no one but yourself to blame if you show up late and there’s a line, or worse, they’re sold out.

★★1/2: Fish Food is excellent and while fish is consistent, the salad is the reason for the ½ star drop from 3 to 2.5.

My three favorite bites: This is less applicable here than with other reviews, but here’s my order: NA beer, side, sandwich.

Where to sit for the best service: Sit in the shade, babe.

Good for: Fish lovers, Powderhorn residents looking for a neighborhood vibe, and people who care about farm-to-table cooking.

My one big tip: Get there early. Like 5:00pm early.

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What the stars mean:

★★★★: Best in Class

These are Minnesota’s best restaurants. Think category-defining and excellent all around in cookery, hospitality, and beverage.

★★★: Excellent and Consistent

These restaurants are excellent and consistent, meaning that the meals are similar across all my visits. Think meals worth writing home about where all parts of the menu are equally strong.

★★: Good or Inconsistent

These are either restaurants that are good but not excellent or excellent on some visits and not excellent on others. Think a restaurant with some stars and some flops, a restaurant that excels at pasta but not at dessert, or a restaurant that is excellent in cookery and not as strong in service.

★: Skip it

Self-explanatory!