Editor's note: The Tennessean is running a season-long, all-access series inside the Pearl-Cohn football program. To follow along with the project, please subscribe to The Tennessean here.
Sweat beads crawl down Jeremiah Smelley’s forehead.
He works fast, but carefully, as the rubber gloves are hardly protection from the hot fryer grease.
“I do get burned sometimes,” he says.
On a scorching September day in north Nashville, a line of vehicles curl around Ed’s Fish House at the intersection of D.B. Todd Boulevard and Buchanan Avenue. Ed’s and Helen’s Hot Chicken are both great places to eat fried fish in this corner of town — some might say the best.
But the rarest fish sandwich around here comes from Smelley and his crew a few miles away at Pearl-Cohn
High School. It's only served about six Friday nights each autumn at the Firebirds' home TSSAA football games.
Pearl-Cohn has been selling white-fish sandwiches to fans for the better part of the last 20 years. They are made to order, piping hot, and make a case as the most unique concession item offered in Middle Tennessee.
“Once the first person orders, I just start dropping them (in the fryer). And once I drop, I just keep dropping. It goes all night long,” said Smelley, a former lineman on Pearl-Cohn’s 1996 and 1997 state championship teams. “On an average game, we probably sell 80-100 pounds (of fish).”
How Pearl-Cohn’s TSSAA football fish sandwich tradition began
Pearl-Cohn has built a fish sandwich following.
A few Christ Presbyterian Academy fans asked about leftovers after their game against Pearl-Cohn this season. Some were from out of town and wanted to take the fish back to their hotel rooms.
Visiting radio broadcasters are popular customers too.
“Once they try it, they’re sports announcers, they spread the word,” Smelley said.
Pearl-Cohn coach Tony Brunetti’s wife, Karen, and her sister Deborah made the first sandwiches in 2006 after Brunetti took over the program. Until a few years ago, they did most of the work. The idea was to make money for the team by elevating the concession stand. "It wasn't good at the time," Brunetti said.
Karen and Deborah made fresh lemonade and iced tea. People splashed them together and made Arnold Palmer drinks. They sold hot chocolate on cold nights.
Deborah added her fried fish recipe, which remains a secret to most people. Smelley now uses his recipe, he says, which is also a secret.
It's a pair of crispy white-fish filets between two slices of white bread for $6. Add-ons include onions, pickles and a slice of American cheese. French’s yellow mustard and Louisiana Brand Hot Sauce are the condiments of choice. A fish plate (sandwich with fries) is $12.
“People used to walk up to the gate, and they wouldn’t want to come in, but they said, ‘Will you sell us some of that fish through the gate? Because we can smell it down on Jefferson Street,’” Karen said.
‘We can give them a run for their money’
Smelley steps out of his truck wearing work slacks and a red t-shirt after clocking off from his Metro Schools maintenance technician job. He gets to Pearl-Cohn about 3:10 p.m. each Friday to start working.
Two six-pound jars of fry mix and two 39-pound boxes of crinkle cut fries are waiting for him, sitting beside two 20-year-old fryers.
As a teen living at Preston Taylor Homes government housing development in west Nashville, high school football “kept me out of trouble,” Smelley said. He took over the sandwich operation several years ago; watching his grandfather slaughter and sear meat, and cooking for 15 years at Nashville's famous and since-closed Rotier's Restaurant came in handy.
“Everybody cooks different," Smelley said. "Ed’s (Fish House) has been in business for over 50 years. But we feel like we can give them a run for their money.”
Tyler Palmateer covers high school sports for The Tennessean. Have a story idea for Tyler? Reach him at tpalmateer@tennessean.com and on the X platform, @tpalmateer83.
This article originally appeared on Nashville Tennessean: Inside Pearl-Cohn's 20-year fish sandwich tradition at TSSAA football games
