Groping for Grouper

I walked into my favorite fish market the other day and saw the sign on the

tray of fresh grouper. It said $25 a pound. I was planning dinner for eight. Which meant at least four pounds. Which meant I didn't buy grouper.

Let 'em eat mahi mahi.

Yes, these are hard times for grouper lovers. That $25-a-pound mark, almost double what grouper was going for a year ago, is like the price of gas hitting five bucks a gallon. Only there's no hybrid option, no economical, Toyota-Prius version of fresh grouper that lets well-meaning folks combat the reality of the marketplace. The Gulfshore's favorite fish, the prime ingredient in a sandwich that has no piscatorial equal, is in such short supply that the federal government has slapped a ban on commercial fishing for red grouper until at least January. And it's not as if those of us hungry for grouper can take matters into our own hands. Recreational grouper fishing has also been outlawed in federal waters until 2006.

True, the ban does not apply to state waters. But state waters only extend nine miles from the mainland; and, as any grouper angler with logbooks of secret offshore coordinates knows, you have to head out a whole lot further than nine miles to find the fish whose firm white flesh is so prized by those of us who live and eat here.

All of which means that the Truth in Grouper Society has its work cut out for it in the months ahead. The society, which debuted on this page last year, is a loose assortment of serious eaters who are on a mission to expose those nefarious restaurants that tell you they are serving you grouper when really it's something else. Like catfish. Or tilapia. Or any number of perfectly edible but decidedly lesser fish that certain restaurateurs too often foist off as grouper in so-called grouper sandwiches. These sandwiches taste OK, but they are just fish sandwiches, they are not grouper sandwiches, and to call them anything other than what they really are is, well, sacrilege.

Those who don't have roots along the Gulfshore might not understand how we can get riled up over what might seem such an insignificant matter. But 95 percent of all the grouper caught in Florida is hauled in between Tampa and Naples. The grouper sandwich is to us what deep-dish pizza is to Chicago, what cheese steak is to Philly, what a loaf of sourdough is to San Francisco. You don't mess with it; you don't mock it.

A few weeks ago, I sat down for lunch at a waterside restaurant and ordered a "fresh grouper" sandwich. It didn't taste like the real deal, not by a long shot. I questioned the waiter, who brought out the manager, who insisted that I was eating grouper.

"Gulf of Mexico grouper?" I asked him.

That's when the restaurant manager turned squirrelly.

"Well, not exactly," he said. "It's New Zealand grouper, but we fly it in fresh and it's the same thing."

Uh, no it's not. Different water, different species, not even close to Gulf grouper.

Anyone can join the Truth in Grouper Society. There are no initiation fees, no dues. All you have to do is speak out when you've been served something that isn't really fresh Florida grouper. If you care not to confront the restaurant management, just write this on your napkin: "I ordered the grouper. It wasn't grouper. I won't order grouper here again."

Good eating, good grouper. If you can find it, and if you can afford it.