Star fish

Just look at the difference between those two fish – it’s chalk and cheese.” I am staring, through bleary eyes, at two sea bass that look identical – no chalk, no cheese, just fish. “Look at the sunken eyes [the fish’s]. You want a fish with bulging eyes – they’re the really fresh ones and sea bass, more than any other fish, has to be fresh.”

It is seven in the morning but Tony Allan, restaurateur and founder of London’s biggest fish wholesaler, is buzzing round Billingsgate market, mobile phone in hand, checking prices and closing deals. I have come to Billingsgate, this throwback to the 19th century marooned in the alien, 21st-century landscape of London’s docklands, with a mission – to understand the sea bass, its rise and (probable) fall. That is why I have to look it in the eye.

Twenty-five years ago, virtually no one in the UK ate sea bass. Fish and chip shops stuck to cod and plaice; posh eateries offered sole or turbot in creamy sauces. The sea bass, though native to British waters and hugely popular in China, Italy and France, fell through the class net, ignored by both sides of the gastronomic divide. This week, Elliot Morley, the minister responsible for fisheries, announced the imposition of quotas on the size of sea bass catches in the waters off Devon and Cornwall. So what happened?

“I first saw sea bass in 1982,” says Allan, who, as well as running Bank restaurant and the Fish! restaurant chain, founded fish wholesaler Cutty’s. “It had a reputation like grey mullet. It was seen as a scavenger fish and was very cheap. It had a sticky texture when cooked, and people used to steer away from it because it didn’t have much of a reputation.”

Allan used to supply it to casinos, where whole fish were grilled and eaten by Arab and Chinese gamblers at the tables. “It’s always been a prized fish in the Chinese, Italian and French markets, but it was hardly considered here. The first place I saw it on the menu was Langan’s, but by the mid-1980s it had really taken off and the rise in price was unbelievable. Over about 18 months it went from being this second-rate scavenger fish to something you had to pay £8.50 a pound for.”

So what turns a fish into a superstar? “I think it was part of the whole Mediterranean thing,” says chef and food writer Rowley Leigh. “Bass was new and much more exciting than stuffy old sole. It is a very good fish with a lovely delicate flavour, and Mr and Mrs Normal came to think it was just the thing for a night out. It’s not one of my favourite fish, though. Red mullet is much more delicious.”

Forget taste for a moment, and let’s concentrate on the sociology. According to fish expert William Black, the rise of sea bass began in the late 70s with the influence of Japanese food and nouvelle cuisine – the move towards simplicity and elegance in cooking and presentation. “Bass had never been a classic of British cooking, unlike in Italy and France,” he says. “We had cod and haddock from the deep-sea ports for the working class, and sole and turbot for upmarket diners. Nouvelle cuisine changed that and opened us up to outside influences.”

Every budding star needs television exposure, and sea bass was no exception. Television cooks – principally Keith Floyd and Rick Stein – began to espouse its charms; it rapidly entered Britain’s culinary consciousness and had soon replaced monk fish as the trendiest fish dish on restaurant menus, or at least on the menus of restaurants that could afford the soaring prices.

Britain’s fishing fleet was quick to respond and prices stabilised. Indeed, during the recession of the early 1990s, prices fell as restaurants emptied and diners opted for cheaper, “gutsier” fish like cod. But as the economy recovered, so did the market for sea bass, which became even more popular than in the 1980s, first choice for the Nices as well as the Normals. But, as always with success, nemesis was round the corner. Increased demand led to both overfishing and the growth of a farmed sea bass industry, leading to the commodification of the foodies’ favourite.

The Guardian’s food editor, Matthew Fort, says we have to distinguish between popular fish and fashionable fish. Sea bass, he argues, is past its haute couture prime, and is now to be found in the culinary equivalents of the Top Shop. What has brought the fish – along with tilapia, turbot and rainbow trout – such ubiquity is farming. There are plenty of other experts who, while still loving the fish in its wild form, agree. Which takes us back to the chalk-and-cheese fish at Billingsgate market.

“Farmed and wild sea bass just aren’t the same thing,” says Tony Allan, “and we don’t offer farmed sea bass at our restaurants, although we supply it to plenty of others through Cutty’s. Farmed bass are smaller and have much less flavour than wild sea bass; and line-caught bass is the best of all, the Rolls-Royce of sea bass.” He picks up a large French line-caught sea bass and admires it, getting excited when he thinks he spots a piece of fishing line still attached. “A good-size bass is 1.7kg upwards – that’s where you’ll get the best flavour. Farmed bass are usually less than 1kg.”

There are other differences too, although they have to be spelled out for piscatorial illiterates. Farmed bass are darker, with a charcoal tinge, and are what Allan describes as “more aerodynamic” than their chubbier wild siblings. The other key determinants are the eyes – “you want clear eyes, bulging out”, says Allan – and the colour under the gill, which should be “bright red with lots of slime”.

The differences are considerable and it seems bizarre that at present consumers are not usually told whether they are eating wild or farmed bass. At Billingsgate yesterday, the latter was about half the price of the “real thing”.

The more pressing problem for restaurateurs is that prime wild sea bass is becoming increasingly difficult to find, and the imposition of quotas this week can only make the situation worse. “We used to see a lot of good-quality wild sea bass,” says Black, “but it is being depleted because of overfishing. Some sort of management is now absolutely essential. Sea bass shouldn’t be fished all year round, as it is at present: it is best eaten in the summer and should not be fished at other times to allow stocks to recover.”

The ministry of agriculture, fisheries and food prefers not to paint the conservation picture in quite such dismal terms (though the spokesman did promise to refer Black’s suggestion upwards). “Fishing for bass has become increasingly popular with anglers and trawlermen,” an official says, “and the worry is that large-scale fishing will prejudice conservation efforts, which have improved matters since the 80s when things looked very bleak indeed.” The particular problem with the south-west is that shoals of bass move in a predictable pattern and were being scooped up en masse by trawlers. The new measures are designed to stop such blanket fishing.

As well as the differences in taste and texture between farmed and wild sea bass, Black also pinpoints environmental concerns about fish farming. “It raises all sorts of issues about feed and health safety,” he says. “It is not a pretty activity and, with a high density of fish, diseases can multiply and affect the wild population.”

Consumers are currently preoccupied with the health questions surrounding meat, but Allan foresees a day when their concerns are transferred to fish. “We’re just waiting for ‘homicidal haddock’ syndrome,” he says, “and sooner or later we’re going to have to spell out a fish’s whole family tree.” Restaurants could make a start by telling diners whether they are eating wild or farmed bass. A good guide, says Allan, is to ask the waiter whether the fish is a whole fillet: if it is, it is almost certainly farmed. That doesn’t mean it’s bad, but it shouldn’t be wildly expensive.

“It’s becoming rare to get wild, line-caught sea bass in a restaurant,” says chef Jeremy Lee, “the sort of fish that still has the hook in its mouth. It is absolutely glorious and has cachet and glamour, the Chanel No 5 among fish, but because of overfishing it is harder and harder to find. A lot of Britain’s catch goes to France, Germany, Holland, Hong Kong and Switzerland – they pay through the nose and we can’t compete.”

As yet, consumers haven’t cottoned on to the pleasures of walking on the wild side. Waitrose, reckoned to be the best supermarket for the more interesting varieties of fish, sells wild sea bass with a relatively small price differential over farmed bass, but it is sales of the latter which, according to the store, are increasing.

Allan says that, in general, supermarkets are the last place you would look for good sea bass. “Supermarkets feel happier with farmed bass because sea bass is a true hunted product, and it’s hard to get any consistency or uniformity about it. They’ve got to become more open-minded about it; too often the bass they sell is good, clean, wholesome and robotic. With the demise of the high-street fishmonger, the supermarkets are the biggest fishmongers in the country and they need to be more responsive.”

What few would argue with is that the piscine superstar’s glory days are numbered. “Farming and the move towards smaller bass could kill the market,” says Allan. Soon another fish – the mackerel, perhaps – will be in vogue with the foodies, its stocks in turn being steadily depleted by the fishing fleet. But that won’t be much of a tragedy for the sea bass. Ironically, the birth of another star may be the very thing that saves it. There are numerical advantages in being a zero.

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