Octopussy – Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying & Eat an Octopus

The octopus seemed to glare at me though its expressionless eyes, viewing with distaste the intruder in its territory. The salmon next to it was appeared quite at home as did the prawns, the calamari and the assorted varieties of fish. The only things out of place were the pizza bread and the oodles of cheese beneath it. For my part I viewed the octopus as remorselessly as it did me and lifted the sharp knife in my left hand. After all what had to be done had to be done, the post mortems, the wherefores and the why nots could wait another day.

With my other hand I lifted my fork and proceeded to cut the octopus’s head in one swift motion. In another moment I had taken it in my fork and put it in my mouth as my wife watched me with a distaste bordering on repulsion. With my most British expression, I slowly masticated and then swallowed it. There was a moment of silence, I took a deep breath and then with a slight flicker of expression slowly pronounced “Not bad.” My wife said nothing in reply but the expression in her eyes spoke volumes, “Murderer”; they said. How had things come to this pass? Things had been just fine such a short while ago.

FLASHBACK-----AN HOUR AGO

We were on our honeymoon and Sydney is an inspired place for such things. Wandering down the beautiful King Street Wharf promenade, we passed the fountains and the birds drinking in the water from the ponds. The paved terracotta paths led on to the quiet waters of the Darling Harbour and we joined the Japanese tourists in taking photographs of the immaculate sunset. The slight breeze across the sea caused an aimless rumbling to occur in our stomachs. It was time for dinner and we were in the right place; for the entire stretch of the promenade was among Sydney’s most happening eating spots cum watering holes - for all budgets and across a variety of cuisines, a number of bistros, bars and restaurants cater to famished travelers which is what we were.

We walked up and down the wharf, the ultra friendly Australians (I could hardly walk a 100 meters without hearing a “How ye doin mate?”) had been considerate enough to put up the menu outside all the cafes, which made possible proper analysis of food served vis-à-vis budget required. Like a good South Indian I proceeded to narrow down on all places the chosen cuisine (continental) & furiously proceeded to convert Australian dollars into Indian rupees. Having arrived at the optimal goal programmed cuisine – cost solution we proceeded into a restaurant. Now I have always had an adventurous streak in my culinary endeavors, I am always open to experimentation of all kinds. However that day, being slightly hungry and also seeing some animal’s tongue (I don’t remember whose) being advertised as the special of the day I was in a slightly chastened mood. I decided to play safe and order a seafood pizza. I should have remembered what they said about the best laid plans….

We had our drinks as we waited for our food to arrive. When the dish arrived well there were two complete baby octopuses in the centre of the pizza as garnish for everything around it. With the pale coloration of good ol’ Casper and proudly showing off 8 legs which seemed to have suction pads all beneath them, they weren’t going to win a beauty contest anytime soon to put it mildly. I glanced at the octopus, then at the waitress, my wife, the chaps at the next table and then back again at the octopus. I was unsure what to do so I gave a stupid grin at all the parties concerned. None of them were considerate enough to grin back and the waitress walked away. I took a bite of a slice which was left untouched by the octopus and found it very tasty especially the salmon. So I took a second and a third bite and polished off two slices in that manner. By now I was fortified enough to look at the octopus again. Its beauty had not improved in any way during this passage of time. The devil in me (my alter ego with a pointed tail) then proceeded to whisper “Why not try it?” My good South Indian self protested but the devil won out by a small margin (as it usually does) by offering the compromise solution that I try the head and leave the horrible looking legs alone. And I proceeded with the actions described at the beginning of this tale, which kind of brings us all up to date….

The rest of dinner passed silently interspersed with a few ‘eeesh-es’ from my wife (synchronized to a ‘T’ with each bite of the octopus) and a few characteristic mumbles from yours truly. And to end an already elongated tale we went back to the hotel, I gargled, brushed my teeth and awoke the next morning without any untoward impact on the digestive system but slightly wiser perhaps, wiser enough that is to ask waiters for greater clarifications where they aren’t naturally forthcoming. And although they don’t taste as bad as they look the next octopus I see I’m going to follow what another unwilling cinematic bakra once said “Good morning and just in case I don’t see you for the rest of the day, good afternoon, good evening and good night.”