Cuttlefish with Wine- Luxe, Calme, et Volupte

Painting, poem? No, not this time. What is luxurious, calm, and voluptuous? It is the humble cuttlefish, bathed in a sauce of a few very simple things- supple, yielding onion, olive oil, a spoonful of tomato paste, whole allspice, bay leaves, a glass of wine. The bay leaves add depth and elusivness- as soon as you try to identify them, they duck discretely out of sight for a moment. Is borrowing a title from Baudelaire-via-Matisse a stretch for a dish of this obscure cephalopod? Oh, not at all- infused with the mysteries of wine and bay leaves, the exotic fragrance of allspice, these hunks of deep frozen unassuming and very inexpensive cuttlefish do become very, very luxe, A dish of few things, so resistant to going amiss, ready in a quarter of an hour, or content to simmer gently as you linger over a good story- this is nothing if not calme. As to the silky mouth feel of the sauce, if the word volupte were not already at hand, we would have to invent it. Are these very grand claims? Try the dish and see. If there were a single dish that embodies the refinement and subtlety of Greek cuisine, the complexity of experience- aromatic and textural- that can come from a handful of the most basic pantry items, this is the very dish.

We need, simply:

2 large onions

120 ml/ 1/2 C olive oil (do not worry- this is not a heavy dish. The oil will float entirely free at the end)

2 or 3 bay leaves

8 or 10 whole allspice berries

2 large spoonfuls of tomato paste

a glass of red wine

450 g/ a pound of cuttlefish, in squares, thawed if frozen.

First we'll saute the onions, sliced as we like- perhaps not too thinly, stir it around over medium heat until many of the onions are golden and some are translucent, and add the allspice and the bay leaves:

Next we add the cuttlefish pieces:

give them a moment to sweat, and then add the tomato paste, and the red wine:

Add some salt and some freshly ground pepper, and cover at a low simmer to give the cuttlefish a chance to soften. After 10 minutes or so, uncover and let the excess liquid slowly evaporate, stirring from time to tie. As it simmers, the oil will start to float free, and the wine divides its colors in the loveliest way- all the orange-reds going to the oil, and all the purple-mahogany going to the cuttlefish itself. 

Here is our finished dish- glossy with fragrant orange oil:

It is an elegant dish- silky, delicate, that oil vivid with flavor and color. The bay and allspice linger. Not content to relinquish themselves entirely the whole, the onions melt on the tongue. Our cuttlefish- still snowy white at its core- keeps pure the gentle sweet flavors of the sea.

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Octopus In Wine- Luscious Drunken Legs

Getting an octopus seems so eventful, even though they are commonplace enough here. Frozen in every supermarket, fresh at every weekly market. The per kilo price goes up by size, just as you might expect- the larger offering not just more drama but more bite- those fat legs are so pleasing to sink your teeth into. 

Any time a group sits down to share one creature a primal sense of festivity kicks in- a thanksgiving turkey, a bison.... Sometimes I am lucky enough to find one huge fish for us all to share, and the delight around the table is considerably greater than amply sized individual fish ever occasion. We last had a good sized octopus when my cousins were visiting from Boston. As befit its size, we just simmered it, put it briefly under the broiler* for some chew, and gave it a vinegar finish for gentle zing. Sweet and saline at once with that nice bit of char, it was wonderful in the mouth, and beautiful to behold filling its large platter.

This week at the market I went late, and had no particular plan, so I was open to the offer of three medium octopuses for 10. They weren't dramatic, but there was plenty to be eaten. We thought of making them into a beloved dish- krassato- sauced with wine, and served- not at all incongruously- with fresh french fries.

Here's what we need for the dish:

for 4, generously-

1500-2000 g octopus (3 or 4 pounds)- we had three of 600 g apiece

about 1/2 C olive oil

an onion

2 glasses of wine

1 C grated tomato

a little salt

a couple of bay leaves

a whole clove or two

There's nothing to the dish but time and patience. Octopus, cleaned by the fishmonger, has absolutely no waste at all- it's pure dense meat. Having said this, it shrinks (denses up) considerably- shedding as it does a broth deep in color (maroon) and flavor (ocean). The raw octopus you buy may seem like overkill in quantity- it's probably not.

The first step is simply to rinse them once again and place them in a pot with nothing more than the moisture still clinging to their legs from the rinse:

Raw and wet in the pot, ready to simmer in
nothing but its own gathering flavorful broth.

After about 15 minutes, they will have taken up quite a bit, while starting to take on a pleasing redness:

Note the broth gathering in the bottom of the pot.

After another 15 minutes, they'll be darker still, smaller still, in still more broth, but still plenty tough:

Nicely pre-cooked- still a little tough and rubbery-
ready for the next stage.

This is just the initial cooking. They shouldn't get too tender, as they'll simmer in wine and tomato for some time until that reduces to a thick and glossy mahogany sauce. Tender is good, but we don't want them falling apart into mush.

For the next step we saute thinly sliced onion in some of the oil, and add the octopus (but not yet its juices) to this, stirring to coat:

Let the onions become translucent and a little
golden before adding the purple octopus.

Now add a good-sized glass of wine, the bay leaf, the grated tomato, and a whole clove or two. It will look like a mistake:

Fresh tomato and wine add a lot of thin liquid to the dish.
No need to worry.

it's not though- in fact we'll add still more liquid. Give it a moment to come together, then add a good quantity of the purple octopus broth that's been set aside, certainly as much as the wine. You'll have some left over perhaps. This gives you an idea of how much broth they produce:

An astonishing color

(I used about half, and froze the other half to enhance an octopus macaroni sometime soon.)

So now the octopus is really in a lot of liquid. It looks thin and watery and unpromising, and tastes of tomato and onion and wine- all separately and distinctly. You'll want to alt this a little, and add still more oil- certainly a small wineglass full in total. After 25-30 minutes at a simmer, this will all have thickened into a lustrous deep mahogany brown sauce, the onions melted and adding their shimmering thickness. Everything that was separate has come together into one soft, complex flavor. The sauce clings to the legs. Happily there's plenty of it to dip the fries into as well.

Mei Mei makes a perfect fry.

Richly sauced, firm and tender. 

*Of course, this was cheating- if you want grilled octopus, then grill an octopus. But to do so with any success you need to hang it out on a clothes line to dry out some- you know like you see on postcards from Mykonos- and they were leaving the next day so we made do with this method.

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