A Raw Truth: the centuries-old, sun-drenched world of Mediterranean raw fish

If you walk down to the port of Bari on Puglia’s eastern coast on any given morning, you’ll see the local fishermen docking their boats and hauling their fresh catch onto land. Almost immediately they’ll begin cleaning their bounty and setting themselves up under a shaded pergola to sell to the first eager customers of the day. A cigarette may dangle from their mouth, expertly puffed without being touched, while their hands stay busy washing, heaving, cutting, rinsing, and beating. 

Beating what? In accordance with ancient methods, Pugliese fisherman - along with other seafaring Mediterranean cultures - know that repeatedly slamming an octopus against a hard surface, will tenderise the muscle fibres for raw eating (and don’t worry, they carefully ensure the creature is dead before beginning). It is then gently rocked in a bucket of cold seawater until the tentacles curl into tight, textural rings. Alongside selling in bulk to the locals, the more organised of the anglers prepare raw platters for you to try on the spot, the content of which has been in the sea just hours - minutes, even - earlier. 

The octopus is accompanied by other local seafood: cuttlefish (allievi) sliced like delicate ribbons of tagliatelle, black spiky sea urchins (ricci) with sweet orange insides, tiny raw mussels with just a squeeze of local lemon, and pink prawns whose heads you’d be a fool not to suck for the concentrated essence (known as ‘coral’) inside. This selection is known as ‘Bari sushi’ or ‘Crudo Barese’ and is best served with a cold beer sold from a stall by the quayside. It’s a punchy breakfast but one which gives you an instant impression of how important Puglia’s fishing community is to the region’s culinary and cultural fabric. 

To many modern diners, raw fish instantly calls to mind Tokyo's omakase counters or Peruvian cevicherias. So it often comes as a genuine surprise to learn that the Mediterranean has long fostered its own ancient, fiercely guarded raw fish culture, long before fusion sushi made raw seafood a global hit. This tradition was born out of a deep-rooted relationship with the sea. Out on small wooden skiffs hours away from shore, bygone fishermen had no stoves, no gas, and no firewood to cook their catch. Instead, to fuel their gruelling work, they relied on what was right in front of them: splash of robust local olive oil, a squeeze of citrus, a pinch of coarse sea salt, and fish pulled from the water just minutes prior. It is a philosophy encapsulated by freshness, respect for locality and resourcefulness.

Down in Sicily, the raw Mazara prawn (Gambero Rosso di Mazara) is one of the island’s most beloved delicacies. Caught in the deep waters off the west coast, they are almost never cooked, as it would be considered a waste to heat away its delicate taste and buttery texture. These slender, vibrantly red shellfish are often laid on a bed of green pistachio pasta or accompanied with creamy burrata, but Mazara prawn is best served almost entirely on its own, its flavour enhanced only by a hint of lemon or extra virgin olive oil. The shell of its body is usually removed by expert hands before serving, but its head is always kept on the plate encouraging you to enjoy the salty, briny coral inside.

Over in Croatia, the Adriatic waters secretly brim with similar delights. You may be surprised to learn that along the Dalmatian coast, there are floating oyster shacks bobbing directly above underwater farms in the open sea. These shacks are essentially tiny wooden rafts, around five-square-metres, covered by a flimsy canopy to block out the fierce summer sun. It’s custodians are rugged, tanned fishermen who wear nothing but a pair of swimming trunks and thick gloves. With small pocketknives, they shuck shell after shell, and bundle up kilos of oysters to passing customers who can only arrive at the stalls by boat. Back on dry land, in the stone konobe (taverns) that sit along the harbour, those same oysters are available alongside flash-marinated paper-thin octopus or sea bass carpaccio with local olive oil, wild herbs and lashings of citrus, which pair beautifully with a glass of cold, crisp white wine.

On the other side of Europe, though Portugal does not have a share in Mediterranean waters, its Atlantic traditions bear cultural crossovers when it comes to raw seafood. In Porto’s bustling Bolhão market, street vendors lay fresh sea urchins (oriços-do-mar), scallops, and oysters on beds of ice, like a glinting treasure box. Already cleaned and ready to eat, their orange and yellow colours gleam irresistibly and draw magpie eyes towards the stall. Each gem goes down the hatch in one, scooped or slurped straight from the shell. No doubt, a more local experience awaits at the city’s port but the quality and flavour is not diminished at the Bolhão.

These sea-faring culinary traditions are long ingrained in southern Europe’s fabric but that doesn’t stop them from evolving. As I write this, I am looking out over the Mediterranean sea from the remote, volcanic island of Filicudi, north of Sicily. Tonight, we will dine at Filicrudi - a clever play on the island's name and the Italian word for ‘raw’ (crudo). Despite the slow, authentic pace here, Filicrudi innovates with uncommon flavours for this part of the world. Raw local catch is transformed through Japanese sushi techniques and flavours. We’ll savour spectacular prawn tartare dressed with yuzu kosho, and raw red tuna enhanced with local wild caper leaves and ponzu. This charming seafront restaurant is one fine example that the Mediterranean’s raw fish legacy is not only surviving, but taking leaps and bounds in even the most surprising pockets of the region.