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February 14, 2008
Stuck On You
There is something about octopus that always makes me feel like love. It wouldn’t have seemed so when I first tasted the eight-armed creature back in the second grade when my classmate, brought in cold Korean-style octopus for show and tell. When I stepped up to taste, the texture was so foreign, and the flavor did nothing to quiet my concerns that the suctions would get stuck onto the inside of my cheeks. The experience was memorable, but not in the way a food wants to be remembered. Let’s just say it wasn’t love at first bite.
Years later, at a dinner with Japanese delegates from the UN, my hosts "treated" me to a bowl of baby octopi, heads and all. Like an ill-matched pair on a blind date, we stared at each other awkwardly, the octopi and I, until etiquette necessitated I eat them in their entirety. It's quite possible the experience hurt me more than it hurt them.
Several years later, the cephalopod waved its flirtatious arms my way again, this time more successfully, at a dinner prepared for me by my dear Valentine. An adventurous eater who’d spent several years near the sea in Spain, my Valentine and I shared a deep affection for edible sea life. When he placed the octopus before me, its deep purple skin glistened through the generous layers of olive oil, lemon juice and parsley, and I couldn’t resist. It was delicious— tender, juicy, and meaty in a way I’d never thought seafood could be. Although I had never attempted to cook octopus myself, I'd heard the storied techniques for tenderizing that ranged from beating it with a rolling pin to cooking it with a cork. I saw my Valentine’s success as valiant--like wrestling a bear in the wild. So infatuated was I that I didn’t think to ask for details about how he’d prepared it, or where he had bought it, or why he had gone to all of that work for just two itty bitty perfect portions. I was in love.
Several months later, during a Central Park picnic with my Valentine, he produced a Spanish tin of pulpo aceite de oliva (Octopus in Olive Oil), a lemon, and a set of toothpicks. He pulled the tin back the pop-top handle, halved the lemon with his well-worn Opinel knife and squeezed the juice that quickened into the oil as an impromptu dressing. Not being in the habit eating foods from a can, I was skeptical, but still amorous, so I partook. With one bite I knew I’d been blinded by love---this canned octopus had the same succulent tenderness as the “fresh” octopus I’d tasted at his house. I should have known that my Valentine had more suave than skill. It didn't matter. I was in love.
And that’s how I got stuck on octopus. Like every good love affair, it’s had its ups and downs, but there is always something new to discover. At the hands of many a chef, I’ve had octopus in paella and ala plancha, hot and sizzling, grilled and charred, sushi style and Spanish style, simple and sublime, but I've never tackled the beast in my own kitchen. Maybe it’s the endless hours of beating and braising, seasoning and saucing that are required. Or perhaps it’s the posture of the octopi lining the streets of Chinatown. Or perhaps I just didn’t love it enough.
Last week, in a fit of Valentine’s nostalgia, I ordered Grilled Octopus with Fagioli Diavoli Beans and Cavolo Nero at Del Posto, Mario Batali’s Italian Mecca across the street from our kitchens. It was captivating—skillfully charred and curled on top of earthy braised greens and buttery beans. Leave it to Mark Ladner, the man behind the menu at Del Posto [you may know him as Batali's utterly succinct sous chef on Iron Chef America], to create such simple goodness. Having worked with Mark during the taping of Iron Chef, I considered peeking into the kitchen to ask him his secret—perhaps it was finally time to try my hand at cooking octopus myself? But then again, the tin can is just so convenient, so fast, so sneaky!
This week, I came across a jarred version of Pulpo, and decided to give it a try on some dear friends from Spain who recently moved to New York. As a token of love, I made them a meal with all the flavors of home---sardines with pimenton, grilled Branzini (Mediterranean Sea Bass), slow cooked lamb in Rioja, Manchego cheese, and of course, "braised" octopus with lemon and parsley.
“Mmmm, Pulpo!” They said with delight as they dove into the glistening plate of octopus.
I beamed. They didn’t ask how I’d made it so tender, or where I’d hid the remains, or which local fishmonger I preferred. And like my old Valentine, I didn’t tell. Maybe that’s the secret to love.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Sarah Copeland, Food Network Kitchens
Posted by Food Network at February 14, 2008 11:48 AM