A Case for Canned
My parents’ canned fish gift box. I thank you both as I fight to make them last as long as possible.
Usually when you hear the term “canned fish,” your first instinct is to turn your nose up in a disapproving sneer. Images of the Starkist Tuna mascot (his name is Charlie, by the way) might come to mind. You might recoil at the thought of albacore tuna suspended in water (and you would be right to do so), which no doubt invokes the unwanted visuals (and scents) of pet store cat food. Worst of all, your thoughts might err towards remembering Chicken of the Sea…
My parents and I have always been proponents of canned fish. Good canned fish. And that adjective carries a lot of weight to it. Funnily enough, that rarely ever concerns tuna. And it’s not like it’s tuna’s fault. A true, fresh slice of raw tuna (sushi-grade, lest you make yourself sick) is the peak of fish as far as I’m concerned. Some real premier duck of the sea junk, if we want to be crass.
But tuna of that quality is impossible to come by if you don’t live in the right coastal region. At the very least, it is unobtainable within a reasonable price range. Thus, the trade-offs of going canned.
Like all preservation methods, canning is a practice developed out of necessity. As the next step in the evolution of making food last longer, it succeeds its predecessors of curing and jarring, with the right products being shelf stable for many years after their packaging. Honestly, I find it to be an oversight in media when fallout shelters are packed to the gills with beans and canned meats when the better option is right there. Point being, if everything does go to shit, you’ll find my family bunkered up with enough Season Brand sardines from Costco to last through the first couple of months.
To those who are still upset about the prospect of sardines now, we might have reached a dead end. But if I can at least try my best, here’s what I’ll say. If you’re one of those people who are just outright appalled by the idea of eating fish in any form, then yes, we are opposed. But to anyone who is on the fence, to the casual tuna melt or tuna salad enjoyer, or perhaps to those bread dipped in olive oil enthusiasts, I might have a case.
The place to go wrong, by which I mean eating straight from the can, is definitely any form of fish preserved in water. Hard stop. Absolute no-no. That is where you get the cat food comparisons. A quality canned tuna can be turned into something likeable, but to be fair the dishes that come to mind most likely involve mayonnaise doing a lot of the heavy lifting. If you want tasty canned fish, it’s gotta be preserved in olive oil.
Packing together fish in oil as part of the canning process is similar to pickling something in vinegar. That brine preserves, enriches, and infuses the food within it with flavor. Whereas still water permeates that “fishiness” odor and taste that many people are rightfully adverse to, oil packs in the natural taste of the fish with minimal sacrifice, if any. For the right kind of fish, it also helps to (and there’s no better way to put this, unfortunately) soften and jellify the bones, meaning that you can eat the whole thing without any worry. On a health level, you’re looking at a strong source of protein, fats (namely the ever-on-the-mind omega-3s), and a bit of extra calcium as well via the bones.
In Portugal, canned fish has gone on to become a symbol of national gastronomy in recent years. The country’s first commercial cannery, Ramirez, opened in 1853, where it has gone on to now hold the distinction of the oldest extant cannery in all of Europe.
Portugal’s canning industry would see considerable growth and international outreach throughout the two great wars, supplying nutritious, long-lasting, easily transportable and easily storable rations to citizens and soldiers alike. Since then, Portugal has remained active in its canned fish production, developing improved techniques over many years of research and development. In turn, the country’s citizens have grown accustomed to these products in their daily lives.
Eventually the industry would see a downturn in late 1980s and early 1990s, with many factories shutting down and the prominence of canned fish receding in the minds of the populace. Even in Lisbon (Lisboa in its native Portuguese), the country’s capital and a rich source of fresh seafood, the idea of getting one’s fish from a tin fell out of fashion in this period.
But if a trade based on preservation is anything to go off of, it should be no surprise that through perseverance, time would eventually lead back to prosperity.
And through that tenacity, Portugal’s canning industry has managed to bounce back considerably as we look onward from the 2000s. Those innovations in production, combined with an economic recession favoring the affordable costs and, most importantly, tourism have restored the business to its former status.
Canned foods/preserves are known as conservas in Portuguese, a word to the knowing tourist that should sing like the promise of candy to a child. Conservas, particularly nowadays are an artisanal product, sold in grocers but also in artisanal shops where they decorate the tables, shelves, and walls. Lisbon’s most famous of these shops is Conserveira de Lisboa, a place I was lucky enough to have visited back during my solo travels in 2019.
Just a small collection of conservas found within Conserveira de Lisboa. Talk about magical!
Inside you’ll get that sort of candy store feeling, or even that of an old apothecary. Cans of all sorts bring life to the space, and with them all sorts of captivating colors, designs, and stories. Not to mention the fact of their contents. Sardines definitely remain the most well known, but you’d be remiss to sleep on salted cod (bacalhau), itself a Portuguese staple. Besides that and sardines, you can practically find the whole sea divided amongst the right cans if you look long enough.
Conservas make for excellent eating in their own right, but they work especially well as gifts/souvenirs. Just look at that packaging. There’s a reason that they double as decoration in these shops.
Just one of many Portuguese parcels of perfectly preserved (p)fish.
My parents recently vacationed in Portugal, which if my regular receiving of torturously good-looking food pictures is anything to go by, wound up being a pretty good time. It’s a beautiful looking country, and a mecca in terms of seafood (namely of the cooked, grilled, salted, and oily varieties). No doubt my folks stuffed themselves when they were there. Upon landing back in the states, my mother said that there would be a mandatory fish embargo in the house. By our standards that means that they ate well.
Oh, and did I fail to mention that, being as loving as they are, my father presented me with a gift once he and my mom got back from the airport and unpacked their bags (which naturally were just as full of food and drink imports as they were clothes. Actually, there may have been fewer clothes...). I have been doing my best to ration my stock of quality conservas. Had simply over slices of toast, perhaps with some cooked potatoes or cherry tomatoes on the side, it’s a treat that transports me to dining at a small eatery by the waterfront, sea breeze flowing over the streets with a fresh splash of salt.
Nothing too strong, too fishy, none of that. Just tasty, oily fish. You can count on that.
