Between stealing supervisory glances back at the men cutting fish at his sushi bar, Hori-san eyed me with quizzical bemusement between services as I questioned him on whether he would ever consider using Gulf-caught fish at that sushi bar. Like Hori-san, Kata Robata is also widely regarded as the best in town. And Hori-san only serves the best fish he can buy: ike jime fish.
"We don't use Gulf fish for the sushi," he said. "We can't get fresh fish in Houston, so most of our fish is come from Japan. Gulf fishermen and the seafood companies don't know how to maintain sashimi-grade fish.
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Manabu Horiuchi takes great pride in his Japanese snapper, but he isn't opposed to using Gulf snapper at Kata Robata.
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"A lot of different ike jime fish in Japan, but in Houston...nobody," says Hori-san.
Gulf fishermen aren't going to enter the sushi arena if they don't see a demand for it. And they aren't going to take up an entirely new career path out of the blue, one that would involve learning an entirely new technique and retrofitting their already profitable boats.
"Fishermen here, their existence can be precarious," says PJ Stoops. "Certain fish are always worth money, and they'll always be able to make the money off the fish they're used to, so why take the extra time?"
"It's very hard work day in and day out," agreed Jason Hauck. "It's a hard living, it's something that you grow up into. And it can't be just one guy going down there trying to convince these gruff seamen. There has to be a bit more of a movement behind it. They have to see that it's going to be rewarding for them." But Hauck has an idea that could create a supply chain.
"I think a proof of demand to the fishermen would be the starting point. Without a doubt, the Gulf is losing a revenue stream of hard dollars by not harvesting sushi-grade fish. It's the only area I can think of where sushi-grade fish is not being harvested. Atlantic and Pacific both. You would think that the Japanese would have their hands in the waters for sushi-grade fish."
Hauck suggests a community-supported agriculture, or CSA-style, program, in which fishermen would be guaranteed an amount of money up front — say, $3,000 — for hauling in a load of ike jime fish. He compares it to the local Wood Duck Farm, whose CSA programs fill up quickly, with a large network of local restaurants and individuals committing to buying a designated portion of produce, meat and/or eggs each season for a set price, paid up front. The restaurants are guaranteed farm-fresh fruits and vegetables for an entire season, and Wood Duck Farm is guaranteed both buyers and an income from the first day of each season. "Something like that would be a good stepping stone," Hauck says.
As for getting patrons to eat it, Carl Rosa has an idea, one true to his New Orleans roots: lagniappe. Start with just a tiny shipment of sushi-grade Gulf-caught mackerel, he says. Take a small snippet and provide it to diners on their plate alongside the regular sushi or sashimi they've ordered that night, and briefly explain its provenance.
"Give them a little bitty piece and just say, 'Try that.' And they'll say, 'Oh, that's really, really good!'' Tell them, 'So the next time you come in, order a piece.'"
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As dedicated as he is to Japanese fish, Hori-san is game to offer Gulf sushi-grade fish in his restaurant. "If we have ike jime fish in local market, of course I'm going to buy it. Definitely I'm going to buy it."
But Hori-san is wary of alienating diners who, he says, come in and order "four piece salmon, four piece tuna," and are uninterested in experimenting with anything other than what they consider "typical" sushi.
There's an irony here, one that doesn't escape author Sasha Issenberg, who writes: "What most Americans (and Japanese, too) would think of as the Platonic ideal of the 'authentic' and the 'traditional' sushi experience — a fatty, pink slice of toro nigiri served by a chef to a customer seated before him — is in fact no older than the California roll." Lean fish like flounder and red snapper were initially far more popular.
Even more ironic is the popularity of toro, or bluefin tuna, which only a few short decades ago was regarded as a trash fish. The average price for bluefin tuna has now risen by more than 10,000 percent. Tuna has become such a commodity, in fact, that there is an enormous market for catching fish that merely resemble it. Hawaii was recently busy catching almaco jack — the exact same fish that's common in Gulf waters — and selling it at a premium, marketed as "Kona Kampachi," an alternative to the dwindling supplies of wild-caught bluefin tuna.
"Sushi's history shows a foodstuff always in flux, remaking itself over centuries due to shifting pressures of economics and culture," writes Issenberg. So history gives hope that diners might come to embrace Gulf-caught sushi-grade fish with time.
If the local industry were to keep a significant portion of processing and sales instead of having to work through the Tokyo fish markets, where traders pay over $6 billion — not million, billion — a year for fish, it would be an economic boon not only for Gulf fishermen, but for the entire Gulf Coast.
