Your Money's on the Wrong Fish
This is a writing sample from Scripted writer Garrett Dennert
You've cleared your schedule. You've secured a sitter. The outfit you splurged on months ago and have yet to wear hangs neatly from the closet rack.
Date night is here, and this time it's actually happening. No post-poning, no cancellation, no overtime hours.
Tonight is your night, and, just like you and your partner planned, you're going to walk to the new sushi restaurant just blocks away, whose construction you've witnessed each and every day, whose chef is internationally-renowned, whose online menu has been so deliciously put together that you just can't stop stalking it while at work.
These extreme expectations are surprisingly met upon arrival – you and your partner marvel at the décor, at how intimate of a space it is. You two take your seats. To start, your partner suggests, you two should get drinks and then a classic sushi roll, you know, to get your palate right before experimenting on the more unique rolls offered here.
You agree, and decide upon a spicy ahi tuna roll, priced at $15. And the night just gets better from there. The sushi, you believe, is just to die for. Bold flavors, subtle flavors, an Instagram-worthy presentation. Overall unforgettable bites.
The walk home soon becomes unforgettable too, as your stomach turns, as your legs weaken, as it quickly becomes apparent that something was wrong with your food. Food poisoning, you first think. And it's certainly possible. But, more than likely, what you ate tonight is not what you ordered, starting with that spicy ahi tuna roll.
WHAT WAS ACTUALLY ON YOUR PLATE
According to a 2012 study by the nonprofit group, Oceana, 33 percent of fish in the United States is mislabeled. This means that the atlantic cod you're thinking about eating right could actually be white hake. That sea bass could actually be Patagonian toothfish. That grouper could actually be king mackerel.
And that yellowfin tuna you thought was used to make your spicy ahi tuna roll – it actually could've been escolar, a type of fish cleverly called "ex-lax fish" due to its history of wreaking havoc on human digestive systems.
This – how one cheaper type of fish is used to mask a fish of higher quality – has aptly been coined seafood fraud. And, sushi venues are even more susceptible to it than grocery stores. According to the same 2012 Oceana study, 74% of sushi venues across the country had and served mislabeled fish.
18% of grocery stores were guilty of mislabeling, and so were 38% of restaurants (separate from sushi venues).
Why seafood fraud occurs is rather simple, and it likely won't surprise you: it's greed. By fishing for and selling less valuable (and less edible) fish at a higher price, margins are maximized. In effect, so are profits. But, considering that 90 percent of the seafood consumed in the United States is imported, it's how seafood fraud occurs that's especially perplexing. An import rate that high means that supply chains are difficult to follow, and therefore, regulate.
It doesn't mean we can't try though. Join us below as we trace the journey of a yellowfin tuna from sea to plate, pointing out scenarios in which fraud could occur along the way.
IN THE SEA – ON THE BOAT
You're a yellowfin tuna, and this is going to end badly for you. I'm sorry, but it is. Because here's what's happening: you're swimming in the South China Sea—one of the most-fished areas on the planet—off the coast of Thailand. And you aren't the only one. No, you're one of many. You're part of a school of tuna blotting out the sea, and, though there's no way of you knowing, coming for you all is your demise.
Just feet away, there's movement in the water. And the movement doesn't end. It goes, and goes, and goes. Thinking that it could be food, you swim toward that movement, toward that blur. And then, in an instant, you're moving through the water, and you don't know how. You try to swim out, and away, but you can't, and you don't know why.
A victim of the fishing method called longlining, you and several others from your school have been impaled by hooks and are being dragged through the water. Behind you, foot after foot of the hooked long line continues to unwind, snaring more and more fish—some tuna, and some not.
This is where you die. Not on the boat, but hours from now, on this hook that's still in the sea. Tomorrow, you'll be brought on the boat. Because you and your school were caught on this vessel's first day at sea, you will be frozen and stored for anywhere between 10 and 24 months, or however long it takes for the crew to fill the hold.
WHOLESALE – RETAIL – PLATE
The boat docks, and, though it takes hours for them to haul the months of caught tuna off of you, you're eventually taken off of the vessel. Into a large box you go, into more ice, until a deal is struck between wholesaler and retailer, the terms of which can be made fraudulent by a wholesaler with a carelessly-labeled haul.
Or, the wholesaler could intentionally and sneakily charge the retailer a higher price for a fish of similar appearance but of lesser quality. Hint: escolar for tuna.
Depending on the terms of the deal that is struck, you could remain whole, or you could be chopped into smaller portions, into pieces only weighing a few kilograms so that you can more easily be taken—by plane, truck, or otherwise—to the restaurant or to the store.
Next, you're unloaded yet again, and now, if not before, you're chopped — chopped into small, consumable portions, packaged, and stored, either in a restaurant, or in a grocery store.
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