images/Zack Barowitz
Everything you never wanted to know about tinned sardines
Several years ago, your correspondent met a friend at a local restaurant to enjoy some drinks and tapas. Among the small-plate offerings were sardines, which, when served grilled or fried, are a popular snack in Mediterranean countries. My anticipation was so great that I didn’t inquire about the cooking method, content to be surprised — and surprised I was!
The fish was served not grilled, not fried, but canned, and aggressively so — the tin’s numerical stamp could be discerned on the flesh of the fish on the plate. My disappointment doubled as I wondered in vain why anyone would order canned sardines in a restaurant when they’re so easily prepared at home by simply peeling back the lid.
A year or so later, your correspondent sought confirmation of his bias by ordering sardines in a Parisian restaurant. But over there, the fish was served inside the actual can, albeit artfully, with the lid peeled back like a toupée in a headwind. In both restaurants, the canned sardines tasted like … well, canned fish.
This cheap, oily, smelly, strongly flavored fish can be found everywhere from high-class hotels to cat food bowls. In Europe, canned and jarred seafood — called conservas in Spain — has long been a more upscale item. Your correspondent recalls being amused to see cans and jars of tuna fish under lock and key in Iberian supermarkets (and, subsequently, equally amused that in Portland, it’s garbage bags that get an extra layer of theft protection).
Sardines are healthy, containing calcium, protein, and omega-3 fatty acids. The fish can do everything canned tuna or salmon can do, and more, like the classic sandwich sardine au beurre (with parsley, pickles and butter), or simply served accompanied by cress or cucumber. Sardines go great on crackers or canapes (especially with cream), and in fish cakes, egg salad, spaghetti sauce, and omelets with creamy feta. Lay some on a bagel with cream cheese, scallion and tomato, or venture a sushi preparation with wasabi and soy sauce.
You may think you know a sardine when you smell one, but their taxonomy isn’t straightforward — perhaps due to their tremendous capacity to pullulate. Sardines are small fish in the family Clupeidae, which includes pilchards (Sardina pilchardus) from the Mediterranean when they’re young and small, the naturally smaller sprat from the Baltic Sea, and scores of other species around the world. Other fairly common fish in the family that are not sardines include shad (famous for its roe), the alewife (famously valuable here in Maine), and the small but mighty anchovy.
Sardines in Maine
Prior to the 1860s, sardines in the United States were imported as “Russian sardines,” though they were actually fished off the coast of Norway. In 1870, a naval blockade during the Franco-Prussian War cut off much of the supply and caused prices to soar, prompting inventive Americans to seek workarounds.
In 1867, Portlander George Burnham (of Burnham & Morrill, a.k.a. B&M, the baked-bean company) started experimenting with canning techniques for a domestic sardine, using small, young Atlantic herring (Clupea herengus), which were abundant in Passamaquoddy Bay. Unfortunately, Eastport’s humidity made it too difficult to sufficiently dry the fish, so Burnham abandoned the project. It was a couple city slickers from New York, Henry Sellman and Julius Wolff, who established the Eagle Preserved Fish Company in Eastport and began canning sardines there in 1876.
Nearly 80 canneries opened in Maine over the next 25 years, including numerous fish factories in Lubec and Boothbay Harbor. Prior to 1903, the factories made their own cans, but afterward, American Can Company (the eponym of Canco Road in Portland) supplied them.
Sardine canning is heralded as one of Maine’s biggest economic success stories — just don’t sniff too deeply into the details. For example, about 200 children were employed in the industry in 1907. They worked as cutters, removing the head, tail and guts; and as flakers, arranging the cut fish on trays in preparation for cooking.
According to a report that year penned by Miss Eva L. Shorey of Bridgton for the Maine Bureau of Labor Statistics, the work was in no way dangerous or harmful to the children (or “busy little people,” as a historian referred to them in 1939). To the contrary, the work was “honest and healthy” for kids, she wrote, and the tykes “seem to enjoy” it. Granted, Miss Shorey also reported that, due to the seasonality of the industry, its workers lived in temporary, factory-owned camps “with very primitive sanitary conditions.” She also cited the deleterious effects of losing four months of school each year and noted the high dropout rate of Downeast students.
In Maine: A Guide ‘Down East,’ written by unemployed Lefties for the Works Progress Administration during the nadir of the Great Depression, we find a less varnished view. “Fishing, like agriculture, has fallen on evil days,” the report’s authors observe. “Centralized control of the marketing end of the business, the use of high-powered beam trawlers that destroy millions of young fish, pollution of the streams in which the fish formerly spawned, and other factors have reduced the fishermen to abject poverty.”
Since canning began in Eastport, “the women of the town, young and old, drop whatever they are doing, seize their aprons, and rush to the factories when the siren gives warning of a new catch,” they wrote. “The old folk speak of sardines as ‘little fish biled in ile’” — or, in the King’s English, “boiled in oil.”
[Note: The WPA’s guide to Maine was heavily revised in 1970 by the Maine League of Historical Societies and Museums, under the editorial guidance of Doris A. Isaacson, with funding from the Maine Legislature. In the retelling, any indication of “evil times” in the state’s sardine industry was whitewashed away.]
In his introduction to the 1945 booklet The State of Maine’s Best Seafood Recipes, then-Gov. Horace Hildreth boasted of “the famed ability of the women of Maine to prepare these seafoods.” Among the dishes included are Sardine Spirals, Deviled Sardines, and Sardine Surprise (which I may have been inadvertently served in Paris).
Sandy Oliver, writing in the Bangor Daily News, told the world about the “Myron sandwich,” which is just bread, sardines and blue cheese. It’s named after its inventor, Myron Jones of Ellsworth, and the components are simple enough, but the ratio is crucial — go light on the blue cheese, lest its pungency overwhelm the fish.
The industry was still going strong at the dawn of the ’60s, but there were subtle signs of trouble. To wit: the Maine Sardine Council felt compelled to try to boost the trade with a comic book titled, Ricky & Debbie in Sardineland, the tale of two youngsters accompanied by their father — bow tie, pipe, fedora, mustache — visiting Maine and having a ball on a sardine boat and in a processing facility, where they even get to meet some state inspectors!
The industry was also bolstered in those days by a lucrative byproduct: pearl essence, the substance that came off fish scales as the creatures were pumped from weir traps into boats. It was valuable for the manufacture of lacquers and shimmery makeup, and as a coating for imitation pearls, which were once made in two Eastport factories.
But tastes change, fish migrate, jobs get outsourced overseas, and in 2010, the last sardine factory in Maine or anywhere else in the U.S. — called “Stinson’s” by locals in Prospect Harbor, after its founder, but then owned by Bumble Bee Seafood — abruptly closed. The headline in the Ellsworth American read “Cannery Woe” (which is also the title of a 1961 sardine-themed Looney Tunes short starring Speedy Gonzales).
Oh, and don’t be fooled by Bar Harbor brand sardines; their fish are a product of Latvia.
Sardines Today
Sardines are heavily fished worldwide, especially in the North Sea and the Mediterranean. Morocco, being the biggest producer, is also the chief supplier of the cheaper brands. Mainers in search of a traditional Downeast sardine should try the small Atlantic herring of the Canadian-caught and Canadian-canned Brunswick brand — the closest modern approximation of that erstwhile staple.
Back in 1986, when your correspondent worked at the Portland Fish Exchange, a co-worker, “Espo” (of the restaurant family), recalled a two-week commercial fishing trip during which “all the gourmet cook had to feed us was sardines dipped in mustard with white bread.” To this day, the favorite snack of many Eastporters is Brunswick sardines with locally made Raye’s Mustard on saltines.
The rest of Maine, and the nation, is catching up fast. Canned sardines, and tinned fish in general, are having a moment.
Beyond the $1-to-$4 cans sold in supermarkets and department stores like Reny’s, there’s been a tidal wave of higher-end tinned fish around here, and the humble sardine is riding its crest. Cans of sardines can be found at boutique food shops all over Portland and beyond. Up at the grocery store run by Morse’s Sauerkraut in Waldoboro, you can spend over $10 for a can. And if you go to New York City, you can visit a shop solely devoted to Portuguese tinned fish, including a $44 can that looks like a gold bar and contains sardinhas flecked with gold leaf.
If that brings the sickly sweet cinnamon liqueur Goldschläger to mind, I apologize for the nausea, but the comparison is apt. The phenomenon of over-packaged sardines mirrors the proliferation of extravagant liquor packaging, especially for vodkas, where labeling is the biggest difference between very similar products.
So, aside from the fancy packaging, are the pricier sardines any better than the cheaper brands? To answer this question, your correspondent selected over 40 cans, ranging in price from $1.29 to $15, and assembled a panel of enthusiasts to taste them.
The Tasting
In addition to your correspondent, the tasting panel included a building contractor, a computer programmer, a visual artist, a musician, and a municipal employee who works on the waterfront (he brought the Sardineland comic book to the party).
The cans were separated into four categories: in oil (soybean or olive), in water, smoked, and with flavorings — primarily mustard, tomato, and hot sauce, but there’s a whole new world of other ingredients, including piquillo peppers, kombu, salsa brava, preserved lemon, escabeche (vinegar), curry oil, ramps, truffle oil, and so on. Being enthusiasts, the panel eschewed the skinless, boneless products as much as possible in favor of whole-fish varieties, not least for the added calcium and omega-3s.
Our methodology was to move from mild to stronger flavors, and to compare like to like. Starting with sardines in water, then on to soybean oil, olive oil, and flavors, the panelists diligently recorded their tastes according to a five-star scale devised by the artist:
* Ugh
** Meh
*** Sound
**** Yummy
***** Exceptional
Once your correspondent announced each offering (“Next is a beechwood-smoked brisling in canola oil from the Baltic Sea — does that mean Latvia? — eight dollars”), the panelists took drippy chunks of fish from the can and expounded upon the flavor, texture, aroma, and whatever else came to their senses.
After about 15 rounds, the cans were coming back slightly less empty. After 25 cans, your correspondent was feeling a bit full. By 30, the consensus around the tasting table was that our fishiness had reached such a level that we would all be sleeping alone that night. During the judging of No. 38, the lady of the house came home and marched into the kitchen to announce that she could smell fish from the driveway. She did not accept a proffered sample and has not consumed a canned sardine in the months since.
But we soldiered on to the fortieth can, eschewing only the tomato sauce and mustard sauce varieties, which no one had much interest in, even on an empty stomach. (The great food writer Alan Davidson recommends tomato sauce with freshly prepared sardines, but the combination is just weird in a can, though you can always just toss it into a red pasta sauce.) By the end, our excitement and bonhomie had given way to unctuous crapulence and a strong desire for a shower. The programmer went off to his weekly trivia night and later reported that his team all agreed on one answer: he reeked of fish. The artist was pretty sure she’d throw up.
Your correspondent put all the leftover sardines (except the two very worst cans) into a large Tupperware container and spent the next week eating through it. He is somewhat alarmed to report that his appetite for sardines has only grown since the tasting. The salubrious effects of all that protein, calcium and omega-3s, however, were not yet discernable at press time.
The Upshot
As noted earlier, although the cheapest cans contain sardines from Asian waters (and Asian species), most of the inexpensive varieties come from Morocco, which shares this fishery with Spain and Portugal, the latter being the origin of the most expensive (and pretentious) conservas on the market. When fish come from the same fishery, the measure of quality lies in their handling, particularly the cutting (no guts or fins, please), drying (which often takes 20 to 40 minutes), cooking (frying or steaming) and packing. The most distinguishable difference between a cheap can and an expensive one is often the packing: Are they all placed in there “backs up” or “brights up?” Are they neatly packed head to tail? Is the oil rancid?
Although they’re in the same family as other sardines, there’s some disagreement over whether sprats (your correspondent’s favorite variety) should share the moniker — hence the pseudonym Brisling Sardines. Sprats are fished in the cold waters of the North Sea and are smaller and more tender than pilchards and herring. Being small and nearly whole, sprats are well suited for canapes. Their smokiness also gives fish salads, pasta sauces and fish cakes extra oomph.
We tried four cans of sprats, including three products of Poland. King Oscar ($4) and Chicken of the Sea ($1.39, of which the carpenter is a devotee) are both owned by seafood giant Thai Union Group. Beach Cliff ($1.59) is a sub-brand of Bumble Bee, which is part of the Taiwanese seafood conglomerate KCF Co, Ltd., which also owns the Brunswick brand. It turns out most of these little fish are owned by Big Fish.
The flavor and general appearance of all three varieties were much the same, the differences being that King Oscar fish are “smoked” and beautifully packed in olive oil — belly-up, in a tight neck-to-tail array, the way only sprats can be — whereas the Chicken of the Sea and Beach Cliff sardines have “smoke flavor” and endure indifferent packing in soybean oil.
A fourth brand, Riga Gold, from Latvia, are “wood smoked,” golden in hue, and neatly packed, backs up, in a large round can. If you like a smokier, slightly firmer sprat, then Riga Gold is surely the brand for you, and by far the best bargain ($2 at Ocean State Job Lot, and they come in an 8.5-ounce can, more than twice as large as the standard 3.75-ounce tins).
The panel rarely reach unanimous agreement on any one can, but there were several points of general consensus, particularly pertaining to the worst-tasting offerings. Low-scoring products included several lower-priced contenders: Trader Joe’s in Water, Bar Harbor Boneless, Coastal Gourmet (“tastes like cheap tuna”), Ocean Prince (bitter tasting “mouth vomit” from China), and StarKist’s sardines in “E.V.O.O.” (extra-virgin olive oil). StarKist is a subsidiary of another corporate whale, Dongwon Industries, of Korea, and this can ($1.50 at Ocean State), a product of Thailand, contained skinless, boneless fish that tasted bitter.
But money can’t buy sardine happiness. The relatively expensive Wild Planet variety — from the “northern Pacific,” they were one of the few non-Atlantic/Mediterranean selections — had a disconcerting black appearance, like eels, and a strangely acrid and unpleasant flavor that the woodworker on the panel associated with “birch” (or possibly turpentine). The fish in an $8 can of La Rose, from Portugal, scored a universal Ugh for their poor flavor and alarmingly mushy texture. The $8 can of “Nordic” Fangst contained product that was likewise mushy and unremarkable. The Gonsalves brand ($3, available at Micucci’s) from Portugal resembled other conservas, but had a decidedly off-putting flavor.
Several panelists had their own favorite brands for under $2. My Eastport source, cited earlier, is loyal to Brunswick, which are usually packed skinless and boneless. The programer is partial to Roland sardines in olive oil ($2 at Reny’s, same price as the soybean-oil version), which come in attractive packaging that rivals that of $10 cans, despite being from lowly Morocco. The carpenter who builds houses is loyal to Chicken of the Sea.
As we peeled back the more expensive Spanish and Portuguese conservas in the $8-to-$14 range, the law of diminshing returns began taking effect — though it didn’t help that we were all getting sweaty and sick. Most scored high Solid ratings, often on account of being packed in a high-end olive oil. For example, the Jupiter brand sardines (from Portugal, $13, but can be bought for about half that price online) were relatively unremarkable in taste, but the olive oil they were packed in was exceptional.
Several of the expensive sardines were of a drier, firmer, meatier texture which, while well suited for pasta sauces, sardine salad or fish cakes, was less appealing to your correspondent when smushed onto toast. There were a few standouts. Nazarena scored high marks for its fine appearance, great texture, and delicate, un-fishy flavor, though at $13 (at Browne Trading), you may wish to reserve it for special occasions (it does sell much cheaper online, as low as $4, plus shipping).
Jose Gourmet’s cans have sophisticated graphic design (they even list the illustrators on their website), and their extensive product line includes “cuttlefish in ink with shrimp pate,” hake roe, stuffed octopus, and numerous other sea creatures in a variety of sauces. We tried a $10 can of Jose Gourmet sardines in French ravigote sauce (oil, vinegar, capers, onions, pickles and herbs). Some panelists liked it, others found it stomach-turning, but the most nauseating thing is the marketing copy on the company’s website: “This was our purpose: to add material and immaterial value, to broaden the relationship between quality production and quality consumption…” Ugh.
The top of the class in the pilchard school was the Matiz brand from Spain (a favorite of the artist). They come in several flavors, including lemon, hot pepper, and sweet piquillo pepper, but stick to the ones packed in oil. At $4.19 (available at Micucci’s), they’re somewhat more expensive than the big corporate brands’ cans, but get an A+ for handling and very tight “brights up” (belly up) packing, with a decent olive oil and sardine taste; plus, they’re in a slightly larger-than-standard tin.
There’s an ocean of brands touting sardines with elaborate in-can preparations and fancy sauces — some only to cover up a mediocre fish. One brand, Fishwife’s sardines with preserved lemon ($8 at the Portland Food Co-Op), scored well with most of the panel, especially for its lemony top note. It also comes in a gorgeously designed tin, but your correspondent found the “preserved lemon” unremarkable — an impossibly thin slice of what appeared to be plain ol’ lemon — and the taste of the fish itself likewise Meh.
Indeed, most brands touting the addition of lemon, peppers and other ingredients were Meh. Two notable exceptions are varieties by Les Mouettes d’Arvor: one with parsley and garlic ($14), and another with sea salt from Guerande ($12). The difference is that both are packed in butter — proper butter, not melted and congealed fish ghee, like the stuff that gets thrown away by the gallon at lobster shacks. The musician praised the substitution of butter for oil as “a unique experience.” Months later, your correspondent read the fine print on the can and realized these fish were intended to be slowly warmed in a pan. This seems to defeat the purpose of packing them in spreadable butter, but it does make one curious. Another $14 curious? Maybe not.
Perhaps sardines’ greatest selling point is convenience. According to Ricky and Debbie, it’s a snap to bring sardines camping, hunting (“just as easy to carry as extra ammo”) or to your workplace, though if your office is not well ventilated, and your co-workers are anything like mine, you will not be popular.
Ricky and Debbie also inform us that school kids love sardines. They could not have foreseen all the sauces the fish would be packed with in the 21st century, but having been raised in the 1950s, they likely knew most of those fancy sauces can be easily made at home, especially the lemon- and mustard-based ones.
Your correspondent’s advice is to pick a few brands under $5 (or less than $2) and stick with them. Seek out fresh sardines for home frying or grilling when you can. And, for the love of God, pace yourself.
