They were sort of purply aand greyish and shiny and suctioncuptioney and in a big pan on the salad bar at the chinese buffet.  They were smallish and roundish and very curlyish.  They were marinating in Italian dressing and bits of red onion and green pepper.  I took one.  I put TWO on Scott’s plate. (I am really generous like that.)  I wanted to name mine but I figured that would wreck the whole cosmopolitan I-am-the-type-to-eat-and-love-octopus-and-not-bat-an-eye-I-actually-do-this-all-the-time vibe I was going for.

We sat down with our food and thanked the Lord for giving us sustenance.  We did not specifically mention the octopedal salad.  I started with my crab rangoon hoping Scott would go first.  He innocently picked up an eggroll.  Resigned to my roll as leader I placed my fork over my wee widdle octopi and pressed down.  I pressed harder. I pressed and wiggled the fork side to side.  The little guy was, shall we say, ah, resilient?  I needed to use the knife.  I cut off 1/2 of the legs and (do you call it the neck?)  It was a largish bite-I believe to really taste a new food you need to take a real bite.  Plus one definitely canNOT pull off cosmopolitan sofistication when sniffing and nibbling like a 7 year old who thinks there may be an onion nearby.  UH I’d have rather had the onion.

The flavor was someplace between calamari and scallops and rather nice with the marinade.  The texture was to die for..literally GAG until death comes blissfully taking the feeling of suction cups off your tongue.  It fought back.  Like a super-bouncy ball. With tentacles.  I did chew.  I did swallow.  I did not make faces.  It took much self-control. And long minutes of my time to get it into small enough bits so I could be sure to avoid a flying octopus Heimlich scene.

But I did it. I don’t feel any more sofisticated neither.

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