One of the first things I did when I moved to Seattle was sign up to volunteer at the Seattle Aquarium. It was not as if I woke up one morning and said to myself, I simply must begin working with sea cucumbers today, instead, I sort of stumbled upon my stint as a docent. It was the aquarium's position on the downtown waterfront, a few blocks from Pike Place Market and steps away from a covered outdoor shack that served what I still consider to be the world's best fish and chips, that led me to its door.
For the first month or so after I relocated, I lugged around the heavy burden of perpetual homesickness. I missed my friends and family and often questioned why I moved to a place that was undeniably beautiful but afforded me nothing in terms of friendship and community. During those first lonely weeks, I discovered that one of the few places that could vanquish my homesickness and remind me of why I made the move was the perpetually bustling fish and chips shop. I knew no one when I moved to Seattle besides a friend who was consulting out of state and on my days off from a new job, I would wander to the waterfront alone, order a basket of perfectly fried halibut, not too greasy, not too dry, served with golden steak fries along with the requisite microbrew, the charms of which one inevitably succumbs to as a Seattle resident. Paper basket of sunny goodness in one hand, winsome bottle of beer in the other, I would settle into a spot at one of the communal tables in the outdoor seating area that jutted out over Puget Sound.
Perhaps it was the communal tables that made me feel a part of a social scene, even if none of the tourists actually cared that I was there, or it could have been the gentle glide of the ferry boats pulling into harbour as they shuttled people back and forth from Bainbridge Island, their confident bellows indicating that all was secure as they pulled safely into shore. It might have been the view. Nothing quite compares to licking greasy salt off your fingers then cleansing the palette with a malty chestnut colored beer while enjoying the theatre of the Olympic Mountains looming above the Sound in one direction and the imposing majesty of Mount Rainier floating over the clouds in the other. I'm not quite sure what kept drawing me back day after day to that fish and chips shop but it comforted me somehow and while I would later view it as a place that only the tourists visited, I was always grateful to it for getting me through those first few terrible weeks.
However, no matter how idyllic my little wind swept restaurant was, there is a limit to the amount of comfort a basket of fried fish can deliver. On perhaps day twelve or fifteen of my visit to the chip shop, I decided I needed to venture out beyond the reaches of its salty embrace. I wandered down the waterfront, first stopping into Elliot's for a blackberry margarita that will always hold a special place in my heart, even if its frozen purply goodness left an ice cream headache in its wake, and eventually ducked into the Seattle Aquarium.
I've always loved aquariums. There's nothing like the cosmic silence that descends upon a blackened room as phosphorescent jelly fish glide in unequalled grace through the silky stillness of the water, or the thrill that does not diminish with age of spotting a black tip reef shark zip by in pursuit of its next meal. I wandered around for a few hours before stopping at their largest exhibit, an aquarium of coral housing all manner of creatures native to Puget Sound, but it wasn't the sea cucumbers or sunflower starfish that stopped me in my tracks, it was the scuba diver scrubbing the (fake plaster) coral that intrigued me.
How does one become an aquarium scuba diver I wondered? And where can I sign up? I waited to talk to the diver, a guy named Cliff, who chatted me up with his regulator hanging over his shoulder and hot pink air tank still strapped to his back. Apparently, the diving positions were the most coveted volunteer positions at the aquarium and if I was interested, I would have to sign up at the very end of a rather long waiting list. He wanted to know if I was certified. "No," I replied sheepishly. Was I interested in volunteering in another capacity? "I guess so," was my rather reluctant response. And that is how, in the course of an afternoon, I signed up for an orientation to volunteer at the aquarium as well as PADI courses to get my diving certification because, as it turned out, Cliff not only held one of the coveted diving positions, but was also a scuba instructor.
I never did land a position as a volunteer diver. Instead, after a multi-week orientation course, I learned everything I ever (and never) wanted to know and much, much more about jelly propulsion, cnidaria, anthropoda, annelidas and every other thing that falls into the realm of sea pens, zoanthids, pencil urchins and purple fan worms, to name but a few. One of the guys in my class was fascinated by this stuff and while he always spoke much more enthusiastically than I knew I ever would about the differences between a pink-tipped anemone and a cannonball jelly fish (he would of course never use their common names and referred to them instead as the Cnidaria species that they were), we became fast friends. I suppose I felt honored that he accepted me even though I looked at my instructor with glassy, dumbfounded eyes when he asked me to name three species form the Echinodermata genus.
Richard also signed up for the diving certification course with Cliff and on weekends when we weren't diving in the frigid waters of Puget Sound, we were driving around the Seattle Aquarium's educational van, teaching kids and adults alike at various schools and events about the wonders of the creatures indigenous to the Sound. It was a rather spiffy, tripped out van to be sure. Essentially a classroom on wheels, its doors opened to dozens of small aquariums stuffed to the gills (pardon the pun) with all manner of strange, colorful life forms. Sea urchins, sea pens, sea cucumbers, scallops, starfish, anemone; we had it all and while I must admit that I was never quite as enthusiastic about the lovely creatures that filled our tanks as Richard was (who has since moved to Guam to get his PhD in marine biology), one of our colorful offerings did fascinate me...the octopus.
The first thing I remember hearing about the octopus was the story one of the scientists told us during orientation at the aquarium. He brought his three year old daughter in with him one night to the aquarium's laboratory. She loved it there, what kid wouldn't, surrounded as she was by endless tanks of fish and gloriously painted sea creatures. He let her play as he conducted his research having always told her the rule, look but don't touch. She always obliged but apparently, the massive octopus floating in one of the tanks was having none of it, why should he, an ancient eight legged invertebrate of the deep murky waters of the Sound be dictated by the look but don't touch rule? When he turned at the prompt of his daughter's scream, he saw her tiny arm coiled up in one of the octopus's tentacles as it slowly drew the girl closer and closer to his beak, similar to a parrot's, tucked into the center of his body.
Was it just a curiosity about the girl that prompted the attack or did she look to the octopus like the perfect midnight snack? Who knows and as any father would, he ran to his screaming child and beat the octopus's tentacle until it finally released its grip and sunk back defeated into his tank. While this taught me nothing about octopus, the image of that little girl's arm wrapped up in the suctioned tentacle of the octopus has always stuck with me. The scientist eventually moved beyond the horror story and told us several interesting things about the curiosity and intelligence of one of the few creatures that I did actually find as fascinating as Richard seemed to find every single animal in the ocean.
There are over 300 species of octopus and because their bodies are entirely soft without an internal or external skeleton or outer shell, they are able to escape through extremely small openings. The only hard surface on their bodies is their beak and this enables them to hide from predators in the smallest of spaces or, as demonstrated in the Octopus's Midnight Snack story, reach through a sliver of an opening in its tank to snatch up the arm of a kid who most likely still refuses to ride 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea at Disneyland.
They have a relatively short lifespan with some species living as little as six months and others, such as the North Pacific Giant Octopus, surviving to the ripe old age of five. Mating is fatal to an octopus with the male dying a few months after reproduction and the female lasting just long enough to care for her eggs, which she strings from the ceiling of her lair. She lays 200,000 eggs on average and as they grow, she protects them from predators by guarding her cave and gently blows on them to encourage the circulation of oxygen. She stops eating after laying her eggs but it is not starvation that kills her but the endocrine secretions of her two optic glands that eventually leads to her death. If the glands are removed in captivity, the female octopus will live beyond the average span of one month following reproduction but because she no longer eats, she will eventually die of starvation. It seems the poor octopus just can't get a break.
Octopus have three hearts, two that supply blood to the gills and one that supplies blood to its eight tentacles. Two thirds of an octopus's nerves reside in its arms and they have a highly developed sense of touch. The tentacle suction cups have chemoreceptors which enable the octopus to "taste" with its tentacles. The arms have neurological autonomy from the brain and while the brain can issue a command to its tentacles, there is no neurological path back to the brain to tell it how effectively its command was carried out. Therefore, the only way that an octopus knows what its arms are doing is visually. Imagine the trouble we would get into if we had the same set-up.
Octopus are thought to be highly intelligent creatures, the most intelligent of any invertebrate. Problem solving and maze tests have demonstrated that the octopus has both short term and long term memory. One theory also suggests that an octopus learns everything behaviorally instead of instinctually but this remains unproven.
The octopus has three defense mechanisms; ink, camouflage and in some species, the ability to automise its limbs, or detach a tentacle and leave it flailing behind it in order to distract the predator. Its ink is melanin based which is the same chemical that colors the flesh and hair of humans. An octopus uses it to spray a cloud at its pursuer which serves two purposes; it confuses the predator and allows time for the octopuses's escape, but it also possesses a chemical that dulls the sense of smell which is useful for evading predators that depend on odor to find their prey, such as sharks. The octopus uses camouflage in which it has the ability to change its opacity, reflectiveness and color in order to disguise itself from predators as well as to warn other octopus of danger. This ability is highly developed in some octopus species such as the Mimic Octopus, which has the ability to adopt the color of more dangerous ocean species such as the eel and lion fish, frightening off would be predators.
An octopus moves around either by crawling or swimming and in short bursts, it also uses jet propulsion to move through the water. Their ability to walk on their tentacles, along with their adeptness at wedging themselves through small opening makes them brilliant escape artists. It also allows them to move across the surfaces of land for brief periods of time in search of food. Witnesses have seem octopus climb aboard fishing vessels and jimmy open the cages of holds to feast on the crab contained inside.
The ancient octopus can trace its ancestors back 200 million years and has made an appearance in several mythological stories. The Hawaiian creation myth conveys that our present cosmos is the last of a series of previous worlds and is an amalgamation of the destruction of those past universes. The sole surviving living creature from the alien worlds of the past to find its way into our contemporary planet is the octopus.
So while I will never find a sea urchin as fascinating as my friend Richard, I do indeed think that the octopus is an amazing creature. That being said, there comes a time every once in a while when I must embrace my respect of the octopus and all its virtues by acknowledging another of its many merits, octopus is tasty. Its an incredibly versatile seafood and stands up well to virtually any cooking method including poaching, braising, grilling and frying. It's also a sustainable seafood choice which should alleviate some of the guilt of consuming such a fascinating creature, and because of its neutral flavor, it serves as an ideal canvas for an endless array of flavor combinations. I've seen it pop up on more and more restaurant menus and I've discovered some of my favorite octopus preparations at tapas bars and Spanish restaurants.
For this recipe, I've braised octopus in a stew of chorizo, tomatoes, garlic, onions, white wine and lemon juice spiked with a little paprika and ancho for a bit of heat. It's served here with a yuca mash but potatoes would work just as well. I chose yuca to enhance the Spanish inspired theme of the recipe and because I like the sweet note it delivers that a potato does not. If using yuca, prepare it just as you would a potato by peeling it, chopping it into chunks and boiling it until fork tender in salted water. It makes a nice alternative to roughly mashed potatoes and delivers a heavier, slightly starchier texture. Slow braised octopus is not the same as say, slow braised beef. It only takes about thirty minutes to an hour to achieve a succulent result, one that has mingled with the stew it was braised in and reflects back the flavors in a pristine, unadulterated way. Octopus cooked too quickly often results in a rubbery texture but when cooked low and slow, its meat transforms to tender perfection.
I love octopus for its many virtues including its intelligence and keen ability to slip and squeeze its way out of virtually anything. I respect its defense mechanisms, how many animals have the ability to detach a limb at a moment's notice and leave it crawling around as the rest of its body scurries away? I admire the sacrifice they are willing to make to reproduce and it warms my heart to think of the female octopus gently blowing on her eggs, strung delicately by the strings she has threaded herself, to supply her babies with oxygen. I love that its eight suctioned tentacles operate virtually as autonomous beings, choosing to follow the command of their brain only if they want to, all the while tasting what it discovers on the ocean floor with its suction cups. Yes, there are many things that I love about this brilliant creature but in the end, when I'm sitting down to a glistening plate of octopus, what I love most about it is what a gem it is on the palette.
Braised Octopus With Chorizo and Yuca Mash
Octopus is frequently available already cleaned and butchered and sold in sealed packages in many gourmet food stores but if you are fortunate enough to bring home a fresh, whole octopus, it is quite easy to prepare for this recipe. To test the freshness of whole octopus, smell it. It should smell of clean sea water and nothing else. To clean the octopus, cut the tentacles away from the head, below the beak then cut away the beak and discard. Turn the body inside out and remove the internal organs and the ink sac. Do this gently so as not to rupture the sac. Rinse the tentacles and head well under cold running water. Strip the skin away if desired but I like to leave it on as I feel it provides an extra layer of texture and leaves behind when cooked slowly a fatty gelatin, call it the marrow of the octopus, and really, isn't marrow the closest thing we have to divinity in the culinary world? Chop the tentacles and head into bite size pieces to prepare it for the marinade. If you can get your hands on smoked paprika and ancho I would highly recommend it as they add an irresistible smokiness and depth to the dish but regular paprika and a little cayenne make good substitutes. Prepare the yuca mash just as you would mashed potatoes by peeling it, chopping it into chunks and boiling it until fork tender in salted water and then mashing it with a fork with a little more salt and a bit of butter until a rough mash is achieved.
5 cloves garlic, minced finely
1-2 inch knob of fresh ginger, peeled and finely minced
3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice, plus additional to finish the dish
3 tablespoons olive oil, plus additional for the braising process and to finish
1 tablespoon smoked paprika
1 tablespoon ancho powder
salt and pepper, to taste
1 1/2 pounds prepped octopus pieces1 medium sized onion, roughly chopped
1 cup chorizo, chopped into small 1/2 inch pieces
1 cup white wine
1 large tomato, roughly choppedyuca mash as accompaniment
for the marinade
1. Combine the minced garlic and ginger and mash with a fork or a mortar and pestle until a paste is achieved. In a medium sized bowl (large enough to hold the octopus) add the paste to the lemon juice, olive oil, smoked paprika, ancho and salt and pepper and mix until the marinade is well consolidated. Add the octopus pieces to the the marinade and stir well to coat evenly and thoroughly. Refrigerate covered for at least one hour.
for the braise
2. In a large rondeau or sauté pan, sauté the onions in olive oil until translucent. Add the chorizo pieces and sauté until they are slightly crispy. Deglaze the pan with a splash of the white wine, scraping up the fond (or tasty bits), on the bottom of the pan to fully incorporate them into the wine. Add the rest of the wine along with the chopped tomatoes and the marinated octopus pieces. Bring everything to a boil and then reduce heat to a gentle simmer and braise the octopus covered for about thirty minutes to an hour or until the octopus is tender and meets the tip of a sharp knife with little resistance.
3. To serve, divide yuca mash evenly on four warmed plates. Top with a serving of braised octopus with chorizo and finish with an additional drizzle of olive oil. Serve with fresh lemon wedges.