The Fish Tank On the Farm

By Martha Duffy

Ernie had it all figured out. The cheeky Sesame Street cutup was out angling, but there were no tugs on the little Muppet's line. So he began to bellow, "Heeere, fishy, fishy, fishy," and sure enough, big plump ones began zooming into his rowboat with a satisfying aerodynamic whistle.

That's the kind of supply-side magic that the fishing industry needs now. Much of the world's fresh- and saltwater harvest is endangered by pollution or depletion at a time when consumers -- seeking greater variety and lower fat and cholesterol -- are demanding more, more, more of practically everything. The solution -- and the future -- lies in aquaculture, already well established as a $5 billion-a-year industry burgeoning both as a business and a science. "There is no more growth in world fisheries, no more new native stocks to discover," says Ron Rogness, executive director of the National Aquaculture Council, based in Washington. "We're going to have to fill the void, and aquaculture is the best opportunity."

If you choose rainbow trout from a menu, you are ordering a farmed fish. There are no more commercial freshwater trout fisheries in the U.S. More than half the fresh salmon served in restaurants and sold in stores in the U.S. has spent much of its life splashing in huge sea cages off the coast of Norway. The catfish du jour is probably a product of the $704 million industry centered in the Mississippi Delta and is a cosseted cousin of the wild redfish that was fished to near extinction in the '80s craze for Paul Prudhomme's cast-iron Cajun cuisine. The succulent oyster on its bed of ice could have been pampered like an orchid in Quilcene Bay on the Hood Canal in Washington, or in Tomales Bay near Marshall, Calif. The two fish that Jesus served to the multitude in the New Testament parable may well have been mild-flavored tilapia. The species is native to the Sea of Galilee, but it is now farmed in increasing numbers in Caldwell, Idaho, where a large potato-processing company feeds it the leftovers.

More startling attempts to cater to the jaded palate are due in the next few years. Norwegian scientists are perfecting something called the tunge sole, a hybrid that grows fast, tastes like delicate Dover sole and has enormous commercial potential. At Maine's Darling Marine Center, specialists are breeding an electric-blue lobster (an extreme rarity in the wild) as a future food source. It also provides a brilliantly visible marker for checking on the success rate of hatcheries.

Responding to American consumers' voracious appetite for fish, scientists are busy experimenting with halibut, one of the mysterious giants of the deep and a staple of the supermarket frozen-food section. In its ocean domain, this monster grows to 400 lbs. or more and cruises for up to 40 years. It is ugly too; during maturation the skull of the halibut twists, moving one eye to the opposite side and giving the beast -- naturally enough -- a grotesquely pained look. Well, its sufferings are over. Aquaculturists, again in Norway, have produced a dwarf version, at a mere 15 lbs., that takes only three years to reach market size, rather than the 10 required by the wild variety.

Public acceptance of farmed fish has generally been good, in part because the busy shopper is more interested in freshness than provenance, and cultivation can virtually guarantee overnight delivery. Aquaculturists claim that their facilities have high hygienic standards, but whether wild or farmed, fish are not subject to continuous government inspection. About eight therapeutant drugs and some 30 other chemicals are allowed in the cultivation of fish, according to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and antibiotics are used extensively even in the genetic restructuring of some species. For instance, the triploid oyster, still in the experimental phase, is rendered sterile with antibiotics and thus does not go through an uneatable mating phase; it is harvestable all year. On the other hand, wild fish are vulnerable to parasites, PCBs and a host of other pollutants.

If the outlook for aquaculture appears too good to be true, it should be noted that not everyone is a fervent convert. Among the holdouts is David Bouley, chef, specialist in French provincial cuisine and owner of Bouley in New York City, a four-star restaurant in most of the guides. No species brings out the temperament in a chef as salmon does. Bouley will not allow the Norwegian hothouse variety in his kitchen. "It cooks too fast and has a lingering aftertaste," he complains. "I couldn't even make stock from the carcass, because the bones have an oily taste." At Le Bernardin, considered by many to be New York City's best fish restaurant, chef Eberhard Mueller draws a somewhat finer distinction. "Wild salmon is much better for a marinade, as in gravlax. It also stays firmer and has great intensity of flavor." He adds, "Farm-raised salmon is a very good product and is easy to work with. I can give you an exact recipe, and it will turn out a certain way. Wild salmon takes a little more experience to cook right." Even Charlie ! Trotter of Trotter's Restaurant in Chicago, spokesman for the Norwegian Salmon Marketing Council, has a good word for the wild. "It has a dramatic flavor," he acknowledges.

Considering the alternatives, chefs are nonetheless generally happy to use at least some farm products. Even Bouley buys some farmed oysters. At Manhattan's 21 Club, chef Michael Lomonaco is extravagant in praise of cultivated scallops, raised on Cape Cod -- "beautiful, absolutely delicious." Al Falchi, who owns the Waterfront Restaurant in San Francisco, buys farmed fish because "you never know how long a wild fish has been sitting on the boat." Perhaps the last word should go to Paul Constantin of New Orleans, who has ridden the catfish wave at his nouvelle Creole restaurant, Constantin's. "Tourists come here to give different foods a shot," he observes. "Look, if they'll try raw oysters, they'll try anything!"

With reporting by Janice M. Horowitz/New York, with other bureaus