Sashimi — from pallets to palates
| • | Shop smart for superb sashimi |
By Wanda A. Adams
Advertiser Food Editor
KEWALO BASIN — Three a.m. yesterday. The daily 'ahi games are under way in the noisy, frigid warehouse of the United Fishing Agency on 'Ahui Street, the only fish auction house left in the Islands, and one of only two in the country.
Richard Ambo • The Honolulu Advertiser
The factors that determine the price of your New Year's sashimi platter are concentrated in this room: the chalkboard displaying the number of boats in port and the amount of fish they bring; the hundreds of tuna laid on square pallets on the wet concrete floor; the jostling buyers from wholesalers, fish shops and restaurants, responding to the auctioneer with a yelp, a nod, a wave or a fixed stare.
Platform attendant William Bulosan trundles a pallet of 'ahi through the United Fishing Agency auction. Today's auction of tuna will determine the price of sashimi — the traditional Japanese good-fortune food — for New Year's Day.
Offstage, but central to the drama, are the longline ships juggling two goals: searching out the best fish and reaching port in time to cash in on the New Year's rush.
Yesterday morning, eight boats offloaded 101,000 pounds of fish, most of it 'ahi, which at this time of year means bigeye tuna. This is up from five boats and 55,000 pounds a week ago and it's good news for those who will serve the traditional Japanese good-fortune food tomorrow and New Year's Day. The auction's assistant general manager, Brooks Takenaka, expects another good haul today.
By the auction's end more than 10 hours later, the buyers are in agreement: Barring miracle or disaster at sea today, 'ahi will be plentiful, of good but not stellar quality, at reasonable prices.
Today's auction will determine exact prices, but the fair grades —suitable for poke and seared dishes — will likely start at about $4 a pound, ratcheting up to as much as $20 for shoyu-wasabi sashimi grades. But the highest quality sashimi fish, marbled with fat and mouth-meltingly indulgent, sweet enough to eat without adornment, is scarce. And $30 a pound retail may be the basement price for whatever there is of it.
The perfect sashimi fish has all this: maximum freshness, red color, buttery flesh, firm texture.
"I'm seeing maybe one fish like that a day," said Cliff Yamauchi of Garden & Valley Isle Seafood, Inc., a major player at the auction, buying for local and Mainland retail and wholesale operations. There's lots of good, red tuna, he said, but almost no fatty tuna.
Indeed, there was but one such fish sold yesterday: a 167-pound monster whose tail section displayed the milky pink layer of fatty flesh for which sashimi connoisseurs pay top dollar. Guy Tamashiro of Tamashiro Market, who had been literally running from fish to fish for several hours looking for such a prize, landed this one at a little after 10 a.m., from the very last boat of the day. "Nothing like that came through all day," he said. "But I need more!"
There wasn't any more: The fish's nearest competitor, only mildly fatty, sold for $9 a pound. Average prices were between $2 and $5 a pound for tuna of acceptable color and texture.
Retail prices will be triple that, often more, because half the weight of the fish is lost in dressing it, and most seafood passes through the hands of two or three sellers before reaching the plate, the price growing along the way.
Richard Ambo • The Honolulu Advertiser
Market factors even beyond supply and demand play a role in what buyers pay for 'ahi: the reputation of the individual boat, how long the boat has been out (shorter means fresher but might also mean lower quality, because fish from more northern, deeper waters are the ones that develop fatty tissue to keep themselves warm), even the temper and tiredness levels of the bidders whose job is almost invisible but vital to the process.
Stan Goya of Star Market, second from left, and other fish buyers are expert in judging the value of a fish by the color and texture of its flesh.
Auctioneer Wayne Higashi stands in the center of a knot of jostling men, mumbling numbers and scribbling figures on slips of paper. He spends the duration of the auction counting forward and backward in a monotone that may as well be Vulcan to the uninitiated ear.
As he moves along the line of fish, buyers — almost all men and almost all wearing the auction uniform of rubber boots, jeans, jackets, baseball caps and cell phones — bob and weave across from and around him. They bend to closely examine the exposed flesh for color and press stiff fingers into the fish's side to check for firmness.
Each wears a white surgical glove on one hand, and as they work their way down the line, they dig with their fingers under the skin of a triangular flap that's been cut in the tail, pulling out gobs of meat, which they squeeze and roll in their hands, checking for texture that indicates freshness and oiliness.
Moving at a pace that varies from fast to dizzying, Higashi eyes a fish, murmurs a price and begins counting down by 10-cent increments until someone indicates an interest with a flicking finger, a nod or some other equally subtle gesture. When two or more buyers want the fish, Higashi counts back up again until all but one bidder drops out.
There is very little eye contact, but there is a complex undercurrent detectable even to the least sensitive observer.
At times the gaggle of buyers seems almost to be one creature as the men stand hip-to-hip, hang on to each other's shoulders and waists as they bend to inspect the fish, push and shove and cackle with laughter. But these are no buddies out for a morning's fish stories.
They are competitors who work hard under difficult conditions: constant cold, long hours standing and bending over, rare and short breaks and unceasing pressure to make the right decisions for their companies.
And a great deal of money is involved. A single row of pallets can cost more than $15,000. In the course of the day, dozens of rows of fish are sold.
The dozen or so regular buyers work with a shopping list and a budget, explains Garret Kitazaki, vice president for Diamond Head Seafood's wholesale operation. Some buy for one retail outfit, others for a variety of clients. With one exception, the buyers work solo, multi-tasking madly to check fish and bid, keep in phone contact with the company salesmen, record sales and double-check the shopping list. Just a few have the big bucks to bid on the most desirable, and largest, fish.
As they bid, each holds a small pad of paper on which the initials or names of their companies are written: Nobu (for Nobu Seafood Hawaii), Masa (for Masa and Joyce), GVI (for Garden and Valley Isle Seafood), Tama (for Tamashiro Market), Monarch, Tanioka's, DHS (Diamond Head Seafood). When they bid successfully for a fish, they slap their label on its slimy skin; UFA employees follow along to staple together the price slip, the buyer name and the fish tag, and see that the fish is rushed into ice and away for delivery.
This being Hawai'i, the competition is mostly beneath the surface. "There is camaraderie, but there are fences in between," said Yamauchi. Buyers don't share shopping lists and there's some pretty cutthroat poker being played, trying to up-bid competitors, to force them to pay more than they want.
So after all this, what is the difference between $2-a-pound fish and $13-a-pound? The standard answer is color, fat, firmness and freshness.
But one experienced observer who asked not to be named because, "these guys are all my friends," said that, in a blind sashimi taste test, he doesn't believe anyone — including these folks, who spend most of their waking hours looking 'ahi in the belly — can unerringly tell the $2-a-pound fish from the $6 by taste alone.
"If it comes through the auction, it's all good fish," said buyer Jed Inouye. "Bad fish doesn't even get put out."
