Fish Fraud: Chilean Sea Bass is a Lie

When you go to a restaurant and order Chilean Sea Bass, you’re not getting what you think. It’s not Chilean, it’s not a bass, and the name was made up to help sell a fish no one wanted to eat. In this episode, we dive into the surprising marketing success of the Patagonian toothfish – from obscurity to fine dining stardom – and what happened when demand pushed the fish to the brink of collapse. Then we chat with Comedian Dan Wilbur.

There’s a weird thing that happens when you find out the real names of the food you eat. It changes your appetite. Imagine sitting down at a fancy restaurant and the waiter recommends the “slimehead.” Doesn’t matter how it’s prepared—you’re probably not ordering it. Or maybe you’re at a backyard barbecue and someone offers you some delicious grilled “rapeseed patties.” Suddenly you’re not so hungry.

That’s the power of branding—and food marketers figured this out a long time ago.

One of the most famous examples is the kiwifruit. Originally, this fuzzy little green fruit was called the “Chinese gooseberry.” It came to New Zealand by way of missionaries returning from China in the early 20th century, and was cultivated for decades as a novelty crop. But during the Cold War, anything associated with China wasn’t exactly in high demand in Western countries. So when exporters wanted to start selling it abroad, they rebranded it. They called it “melonette” for a while, which didn’t really stick. Finally, in the 1950s, they landed on a new name: “kiwifruit.” Named after New Zealand’s iconic bird. It worked. That’s what we still call it today.

Or take “canola oil.” It’s a staple in American kitchens, especially for frying. But originally, it came from rapeseed. That’s not a great name for your grocery list. So Canadian agricultural scientists who had developed a low-acid, edible version in the 1970s needed a rebrand. They combined “Canadian” and “oil” and called it “canola.” Not only did that remove the negative connotation, but it emphasized its origin and made it feel cleaner, safer, and healthier. Sales boomed.

Then there’s the “orange roughy”—which used to be called the “slimehead.” This deep-sea fish lives hundreds of meters below the ocean surface and can live over 100 years. But until the late 1970s, no one was eating them. That is, until a savvy group of seafood marketers realized that “orange roughy” sounded exotic, elegant, and appetizing. Within a few years, it was a menu mainstay in seafood restaurants across the country.

This kind of food rebranding has happened for centuries. But one of the most successful—and most deceptive—examples is what we now know as “Chilean sea bass.” It’s a dish you’ll find on upscale menus from Los Angeles to New York, often paired with delicate beurre blanc sauces or crusted in macadamia nuts. But it’s not a bass. It’s not always Chilean. And until the 1980s, almost nobody wanted to eat it.

Its real name? The Patagonian toothfish.

The Patagonian toothfish is one of those creatures that looks like it was never meant to be seen. It lives in deep, frigid waters of the Southern Ocean, surrounding Antarctica and the sub-Antarctic islands. That means places like South Georgia, the Falkland Islands, and parts of southern Chile. It can grow over 6 feet long, weigh more than 200 pounds, and lives for more than 50 years. It has a dark, mottled body and a huge head filled with razor-sharp teeth. It looks more like something you’d find in a horror movie than in your dinner.

For decades, the Patagonian toothfish wasn’t even on the radar of commercial fisheries. It lived so deep—often over a mile beneath the surface—that catching it was expensive and unreliable. In the 1960s and 70s, some Chilean and Argentine fisheries began to catch them incidentally as bycatch, but they were usually ground up for fishmeal or discarded altogether. No one wanted to eat them. They were too ugly, too oily, and too unknown.

Enter Lee Lantz.

Lantz was a fish importer in Los Angeles who had a knack for spotting market gaps. In the late 1970s, he came across shipments of this toothy deep-sea fish being exported from Chile. He thought it had culinary potential. It was white, flaky, and high in oil content—similar in texture to cod or halibut, but richer. That meant it was hard to overcook, which made it attractive to chefs. The only problem? The name.

He knew he couldn’t sell “Patagonian toothfish” to American restaurants. So he invented a new name—one that sounded exotic but familiar, adventurous but elegant. Since the fish was caught in waters near Chile, he borrowed that. And since “bass” was a name Americans already associated with edible, mild fish, he added that. He submitted the new name to the FDA’s list of “Acceptable Market Names” in 1977.

“Chilean sea bass” was born.

And it worked.

At first, it was slow. The fish was still relatively unknown. But by the early 1990s, celebrity chefs began to take notice. It had everything they wanted in a protein: high fat content, forgiving texture, a mild, buttery flavor that worked with countless sauces. It was also sustainable—at least at first—because the fish was previously underfished and available in large numbers. By 1994, Chilean sea bass was exploding in popularity.

That same year, the New York Times ran a feature on how restaurants were discovering this “new” fish. It was appearing on menus at places like Le Bernardin and The Palm. Ruth Reichl called it “the darling of chefs.” Customers loved it. It felt exotic, but not too weird. Like cod, but elevated. By 1996, imports had quadrupled. The fish that no one wanted had become a luxury item.

But as with many sudden food fads, success came at a price.

The thing about Patagonian toothfish is—they’re slow. Not just in movement, but in biology. They don’t reproduce until they’re around 10 years old, and they lay relatively few eggs compared to other species. That means once you overfish them, it takes a long time for populations to bounce back.

And boy, did we overfish them.

By the late 1990s, the boom in demand for Chilean sea bass led to a full-on gold rush in the Southern Ocean. Fisheries were popping up in new locations—some legal, others not. Many of the most productive fishing grounds weren’t under strict national control, so monitoring was difficult. That led to widespread illegal, unreported, and unregulated fishing—known as IUU fishing.

Vessels from countries with little enforcement would sneak into protected waters and haul in thousands of pounds of toothfish. According to the Commission for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR), by 1997 illegal fishing was more than twice the volume of legal fishing. They called it “the most rampant poaching problem in the Southern Hemisphere.”

And it wasn’t just a conservation issue—it was geopolitical. Countries began clashing over who had the right to fish in disputed territories. Navies patrolled the waters. In 2003, the Australian navy fired upon and boarded a Uruguayan vessel accused of illegal toothfish poaching. This wasn’t just about fish anymore. It was about sovereignty, regulation, and billions of dollars in seafood trade.

That’s when environmental groups stepped in. Greenpeace launched campaigns to educate consumers. The Monterey Bay Aquarium added Chilean sea bass to its “avoid” list in their Seafood Watch guide. Celebrity chefs like Rick Moonen and Barton Seaver pulled the fish from their menus entirely, urging diners to make more sustainable choices. It worked—kind of.

By the early 2000s, some fisheries had begun cleaning up their act. In 2006, two Patagonian toothfish fisheries were certified by the Marine Stewardship Council (MSC), an international organization that sets standards for sustainable fishing. These certified fisheries implemented tracking systems, strict quotas, and vessel monitoring to prevent poaching. When you see Chilean sea bass with the blue MSC label, that’s what it means.

But illegal fishing hasn’t disappeared. According to a 2020 report by the Pew Charitable Trusts, IUU fishing still affects parts of the Southern Ocean, especially in remote areas. And the certification process only applies to certain fisheries—others still operate under different standards or none at all.

So we’re left with a strange situation: the fish is now both a success story and a cautionary tale. You can eat Chilean sea bass sustainably, but only if you know where it’s from. Otherwise, it might be the product of one of the most destructive seafood supply chains in history—all kicked off by a guy with a clever name.

The internet says it’s true.

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