Ortiz Bonito Loin Tinned Tuna

Take two tins of tuna: one from Ortiz, one typical of the supermarket. They came from the same animal living in the same ocean. One costs twice as much as the other. One smells like the sweet sea, peels off in thick blond chunks and tastes like a fancy dinner out. The other smells like harbor at low tide, spoons out in pulpy shreds and tastes like saltwater. What happened? Here’s the abbreviated tale in five acts.

1. Ortiz tuna is line-caught, not netted

Bonito tuna, a common species for tinning, are not big fish. Most are two feet long and weigh about ten pounds. They’re warm-blooded. Taken together that means any bruising or bleeding affects a large portion of each fish and muddies its flavor. That’s rare with Ortiz’s tuna since they are entirely line caught, classic fisherman style, one at a time on a rod. Bruising is much more common with netted fish—the most common way to catch tuna, where hundred-foot-long nets drag the tuna in a thrashing bundle up from the sea.

2. The fresh-caught tuna is stored in the boat’s hold on ice

A more conscientious captain will freight a lot of ice, enough to surround each fish so they don’t touch one another and cool down quickly. After all, no one knows how long they’ll be at sea or how much they’ll catch and the fish starts to deteriorate the moment it’s caught.

3. Ortiz tuna is cooled and chilled after cooking

Cooking canned tuna is more or less standardized: the fish is boiled in salted water for a couple hours. But what happens next is not at all the same from factory to factory. At Ortiz the just-cooked fish sits out to cool in the kitchen, then gets time to chill in cold storage. The two steps take hours and hog up space on the floor and in the refrigerators. Not all tuna makers choose to take them. Like most food makers who worry about price more than flavor, they cut time out of the equation. But what the extra time and care does is critical – it stops the fish from fermenting. Fermenting can be ruinous as a carbonation that makes the tins unsalable or it can be mild. Even mild fermentation has a flavor that, to my taste, is a sour tang that runs throughout most tins of cheap tuna and mars its sea-sweet origins.

4. Ortiz tuna is cleaned by hand

This is as labor-intensive as it sounds (if you’ve ever deboned and skinned cooked fish you know what I mean). It’s not at all standard practice in the tuna world. The women—and I can say from my experience visiting that 100% of the cleaners are women—work meticulously with paring knives, scraping and cleaning every bruise, every discoloration, every chance for the flavor to head south, leaving only pristine fish to find their way into the tin.

5. Only whole chunks of tuna and olive oil go into the Ortiz tin

That’s it. No flakes, no water. That’s the way you get great tinned tuna. Shredded smaller pieces deteriorate faster and that will show in the flavor. As for olive oil, well, the American tuna industry has pawned off water-packed tuna as healthier but what they failed to mention was that in losing 20% of the calories we lost 98% of the taste. Water leaches flavor from the fish. Ortiz only packs in olive oil, which amplifies the tuna’s flavor and gives it a silky, rich mouthfeel.

All these steps represent an added expense, in better ingredients, extra time, or additional effort. But the impact they make in the tuna’s appearance, aroma, flavor, and texture is unmissable. You really can taste the difference.

Tinned fish might be having its biggest moment since Napoleon held the contest that created it.

Maybe you didn’t hear that tale? Back at the turn of the 1800s Napoleon issued a challenge and the winner was Nicolas Appert. The problem Nicolas solved was an MRE for the military. The winning idea was tinned food.

The first food to find its way into a tin was sardines.

For a couple of hundred years afterward sardines held a similar place of regard that followed most foods invented for military convenience: a source of cheap sustenance. The same went for many other fish that got tinned, like tuna. We never grew up thinking it was special.

But something has changed in the last decade. Tinned fish is popular. Coveted. Desired. There are the breathless headlines. There are restaurants putting it on menus, served straight from the tin. There are social media splurges. There are loads of new tinned fish brands popping up and sending us samples at Zingerman’s. What’s behind all of it?

Certainly flavor is part of it.

Tinned fish, when it’s good, is absolutely delicious. Is it heresy for me to say some fish tastes better in a tin? It’s not a stretch to say ham is better cured than fresh. I think tuna is too—when it’s done right. I’d much rather have a tin of Ortiz tuna than a seared slab of yellowfin.

Tourism has something to do with it too.

There are places where tinned fish has long been held in high regard, made to taste great. The European capitals of tinned fish, Portugal and Spain, are booming with visitors. There, tinned fish flourishes in window displays. It is listed on restaurant menus, often served straight from the can. It fills entire aisles in supermarkets. Many Americans have packed their suitcases with foreign fish finds and come home searching for more. And maybe they found Zingerman’s — I don’t count us out as one source of the surge. We’ve been pushing tinned fish as great eating for years.

But let’s not discount cuteness.

Tinned fish packaging can be adorable. It’s certainly one of the reasons I buy it when I travel. But here’s a little secret. Within the cute boxes, a lot of the different packages hold the same fish. There are not that many tinned fish factories. But there are a lot of tinned fish brands who put their name on the packaging. That’s because most of the factories are happy to let companies rebrand their product. We found out about that years ago and are guilty of it too. Sorry to burst your bubble, but Zingerman’s sardines are not tinned at Zingerman’s Cannery in Ann Arbor along the banks of the mighty Huron River. We work with a century old fish factory near Porto, Portugal. We use both their regular stock, and, once a year, we tin a selection of the fattest, best harvest for our Vintage Sardines.

Tinned food has gotten a bad rap. Fish, soup, tomatoes, you name it: nearly every food that has been put in a can for sale has suffered indignation. Tinned food is treated as less refined, less worthy. It’s seen as convenience food that should be cheap and never moderately – let alone expensively – price. Its sister foods, sold in tall glass bottles, thick jars, or fresh – the ultimate status symbol in America’s food chain – are seen as better. Think about olive oil in a sleek bottle versus a tin. Or think about a fresh tomato versus canned. It’s no contest; fresh is always better, right? No. Here are three reasons why.

1. Sometimes tinned beats fresh

When tomatoes are in season they are unequaled, one of the finest foods on the planet. When they are out of season they are a completely different species and often borderline inedible. That’s why ten months of the year tinned tomatoes – especially organically grown tomatoes from Northern California – canned at their seasonal peak beat anything you can buy fresh.

2. Tinned can be different – in a good way

If I had to pick tinned or fresh grilled tuna for a decade-long, I’m-so-stranded, desert island picnic, I’d choose tinned. Sound crazy? I don’t think so. Tinned tuna from Ortiz, bathed in olive oil, is more complex than fresh tuna. It’s got more going on flavor-wise and you can use it in more ways. Assuming the fish and process are top notch, tinned fish are different than fresh – in a good way.

3. Cans are often a better material

Storing food in tins versus less weight to ship and no light damage. It’s a win for cost, for the environment, and for the food’s flavor.

Americans love our salmon and shrimp. But our appetite for them has enormous ecological and social implications worldwide. To feed our salmon and shrimp habits, seafood companies have increasingly turned to aquaculture: farms that raise fish in small pools or giant open nets. Holding vast numbers of fish in tight quarters has many of the same inherent problems as raising chickens or pigs in confinement on land, including rampant disease spread (often combatted with sub-therapeutic antibiotics fed to the fish), enormous amounts of waste, and poor conditions for workers.

But perhaps the biggest problem is what they’re fed. Most fish are pescatarians. They eat other fish. On a farm they’re typically fed fishmeal – pellets made by grinding up small fish called “forage fish.” Forage fish are wild caught in giant nets called trawls, often off the coast of developing nations where regulations are more lax. This can decimate local fish stocks and make life terrible for the subsistence fishermen that rely on them.

So if farmed fish cause so many problems, does that mean we’re better off eating wild-caught fish? Not necessarily. In the case of our beloved salmon, virtually all Atlantic salmon are farmed, so there isn’t a wild-caught option. Even when there are wild fish to catch, how they’re caught makes a big difference. Those trawlers don’t just go for forage fish. They’ve also nearly wiped out fish populations ranging from cod off of the coast of eastern Canada to tuna off the coast of Somalia and Tanzania. And even though trawlers may intend to fish just one species, they often scoop up lots of other fish, too – and sometimes other marine life, like turtles. This is called bycatch. There can be tons of it, and it’s usually thrown away.

What’s a seafood easter to do? Here are a few recommendations:

Ask how wild caught fish were caught.

Seek out commercial fishermen catching with hooks, rather than nets like trawls. The bonito tuna that we get in tins from Ortiz is all line caught, one at a time. This allows the fisherman to be more selective with their catch.

Eat the little fish.

By choosing smaller fishes, like anchovies, sardines, or mackerel, we can encourage fishermen to harvest fish directly for people to eat, rather than grinding them up into fishmeal for farmed fish.

Try the unknowns.

Eating a wider variety of fishes can reduce the impact of bycatch by giving fishermen a market for everything they bring in. Try less familiar species like hake, wreckfish, or scup. There are many, many more. Get to know your local fisherman or fishmonger to learn what’s coming in locally to you.

Go for bivalves.

Oysters, scallops, clams, and mussels are ocean filterers. They get their nutrients from water currents with no added feed, even on farms.

Join a CSF.

Community Supported Fisheries (CSFs) are the fish version of CSAs, the farm shares for produce. CSFs get fish directly from fishermen to fish eaters. There are CSFs in many cities across the US. Some even ship nationwide, or have landlocked pick up locations. Start your search for a local CSF at finder.localcatch.org.

Makes 2-3 hefty, messy sandwiches

4-6 hearty slices good bread
1-2 tablespoons good extra virgin olive oil
1-2 spoonfuls of harissa
1 tin good tuna
1 preserved lemon, sliced thin

1. Take the bread and brush the sides that will be insides of your sandwiches with enough olive oil that it soaks into the bread a bit
2. On top of the olive oil, spread a generous spoonful of harissa on the bread—taste it first, and then use more or less depending on how hot you want the sandwich to be
3. On the bottom slices of bread, add the tuna (I like about a third of a tin per sandwich) and enough slices of preserved lemon to get some in every bite
4. If you want to add in any additional ingredients, like capers, artichokes, or roasted red peppers, pile ‘em on
5. Put the top slice of bread on, and squish the sandwich together

The sandwiches are good right away, and even better after sitting for a bit when the oil soaks into the bread and the flavors really meld together.