Guardians of the
Almadraba

(Fishing) When the song of the siren, a Phoenician fishing method, Andalusian men, and Japanese expertise come together, you are dealing with perhaps the finest red-fleshed fish in the world: Almadraba bluefin tuna. Whether this story is driven by the call of the siren, as old Andalusian lore suggests, or rather biological instincts is ultimately a matter of faith. Every spring, the bluefin tuna swims from the cool Atlantic through the Strait of Gibraltar and into the Mediterranean to spawn. And it does so precisely at the time when its flesh is at its most delicious—rich with the ideal fat content—and always along the same route.

The Phoenicians recognized this pattern long ago, developing the Almadraba, a mobile gillnet system with several “chambers,” set in coastal waters into which a part of the migrating tuna would swim. For the Phoenicians, the Almadraba was so deeply embedded in their culture that they immortalized the fishing method on their coins; the Arabic word madraba means “the place where one strikes.”

Thanks to Japanese knowledge, the Almadraba is a far less bloody affair today. For several decades now, the Japanese have been coming to the coast of Cádiz to buy a large proportion of the Almadraba catch, as bluefin tuna stocks in their own waters have been severely depleted. Their influence has significantly elevated the quality of the product—through the practice of stress-free death. Today, the tuna are killed within sight of the coast in the copo—the last “chamber” of the Almadraba net system that is closed at the bottom—by divers using a type of captive bolt gun that ensures death in a matter of seconds. On board the boats, the Japanese Ikejime technique is also used; precise incisions at key neural points in the fish’s body help relax the muscles and preserve the quality of the meat. Even while still at sea, the tuna are placed on crushed ice in purpose-built cooling boxes.

In earlier times, before the use of divers, the Almadraba was far more dangerous for the fishers, according to Gadira, the leading local fishing company. The huge animals—each weighing up to 180 kilos—were hoisted into the boat alive and brutally beaten to death. Their violent resistance often led to fishermen being thrown overboard and drowning.

Based in Barbate—the heart of the Almadraba and a small town between Cádiz and Marbella—Gadira handles everything from fishing to ronqueo—the cutting of tuna, and export. The Almadraba is a seasonal business. From February to April, buoys, anchors, and nets are prepared. The kilometer-long gillnet system is then installed in the sea, aligned to the natural routes of the tuna. The mesh size is carefully designed to allow undersized tuna and other fish to escape freely. Fishing takes place from April to June, with catch quotas closely monitored by ICCAT, the International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tunas. In July, the nets are dismantled and stowed away.

As soon as a boat reaches the port of Barbate (always under the watchful eye of an ICCAT representative), the tuna are immediately taken to the ronqueo hall directly on the quay. Using a small crane, two of the massive fish are lifted out of the ice by their tail fins and transported to the ramp of the hall. There, workers dressed in orange and blue await, pulling the heavy cargo in with experienced ease.

The steps of the ronqueo, the art of tuna butchering, unfold like a performance with precise choreography. Some of the workers hold the tuna in place with large hooks, while other, more experienced colleagues wield huge, saber-like knives to skillfully make the necessary cuts into the dark red flesh with speed and precision.

At Gadira, over 20 different cuts are made: from the ventresca from the belly (the fattest and softest part of the tuna), to the lean lomo blanco, (the fillet or “white loin”), to the orejas, (“ears”), which are used for gelatine and broths. Each part is immediately sorted and placed into steel shelves, then transported with forklift trucks. A quality manager, clipboard in hand and hairnet in place, monitors the process with a strict eye. In Gadira’s modern production hall in Barbate, the Almadraba tuna is shock-frozen—temperatures of around -60 °C can be read on the temperature displays in the large cold storage rooms. This serves the purpose of food safety: above all, the fish parasite Anisakis, which may be present, must be eliminated.

Gadira’s salesroom is just a few steps away from the icy white rooms where the steaks are sawn and their fat content checked. Local women come to sample the well-stocked refrigerated display cases, buying tuna hearts (for salads or pasta), fresh roe, which is often deep-fried or made into a cream, or various cuts for stewing. Tourists, meanwhile, stock up on preserved Almadraba tuna—in tins, jars and the local specialty mojama: the salted and air-dried tuna, known as the “jambon of the sea.” Price at the source: around 100 € per kilo.

The Japanese—viewed with mixed feelings in Barbate—have not only modernized how the fish are handled on the boats; they also introduced fresh raw tuna to local menus, often accompanied by soy sauce. Until then, Almadraba tuna was mainly canned for distribution throughout Spain and beyond. The locals were left with the less appreciated parts, such as cuts from the head, which are ideal for slow cooking, similar to beef cheeks.

At the traditional restaurant El Campero in Barbate, the diversity of tuna has long been celebrated. On the menu you’ll find hearty dishes like mormo de atún encebollado—a rich onion-laden stew made from a flavorful neck cut—alongside sashimi crafted from various parts of the fish including the descargamento: deep red, precisely cut cubes of nearly fiberless flesh—some of the finest quality tuna you will ever encounter. El Campero even offers an entire tuna menu accompanied by sherry.

It was in this very restaurant that Michelin-starred chef Dani García discovered the full range of Andalusian tuna cuts. García, who grew up in Marbella, now runs a restaurant group with over 1,200 employees and over twenty locations, including outposts in Dubai, Budapest, and Miami. His connection to Almadraba tuna runs deep. This premium fish—always listed with the Almadraba prefix—features on the menu at his casual Bibo restaurant at Málaga airport as well as at Lobito del Mar in Madrid, where it is served as tartare, in a terrine with Iberico pork, or grilled. Much like a steakhouse, guests can choose from a variety of cuts. At García’s Smoked Room in Madrid—an intimate Fire Omakase restaurant with two Michelin stars and just a few seats overlooking the open kitchen—Almadraba tuna takes center stage during the season. One standout dish features the galete—a cut from the cheek area—as the main course of this protein-rich and visibly Japanese-influenced tasting menu.

Head chef Massimiliano Dello Vedove explains the details: the galete, still on the bone and roughly the size of pork cheeks (of which there are two per tuna) is gently cooked for hours over embers. During this time, it is repeatedly basted with a tuna bone broth seasoned with soy sauce, allowing the flesh to slowly caramelize. Finally, the meat is removed from the bone, glazed with a reduction of pork tails and sherry, and topped with smoked sturgeon caviar. It is a remarkable dish, whose character dances between fish and meat, leaving diners astonished.

For the people of Barbate and the surrounding area, Almadraba tuna is part of their identity, evident in massive graffiti murals and sculptures set in the middle of traffic roundabouts. To those who criticize global overfishing and the endangerment of the bluefin tuna species, locals respond with a firm argument: the problem does not lie with the Almadraba. This 3,000-year-old method with its small boats, precision fishing, and short season accounts for less than two percent of the global tuna trade.

The real issue, they argue, lies with the massive international deep-sea trawlers, which scour the oceans using sonar technology and with the many tuna farms, which remove juvenile fish with reproductive potential to fatten them up. Influential Andalusian star chefs such as Dani García and Ángel León have positioned themselves as guardians of the Almadraba. Their stance is clear: before fishing is stopped on the coast of Cádiz—the cradle of this ancient practice—it must be stopped everywhere else in the world.