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| Calamares fritos, Madrid. |
I’ve never much cared for seafood, nor have I ever liked
eating things that look like they did when they were breathing. This list
includes a staple of the Asturian diet: squid. So, when my host grandmother
walked into the apartment one day carrying “a squid dish,” I’ll admit I was
concerned. That concern spiked when my host mom and I pulled it out of the
refrigerator that night.
It
was a bowl of rice and sautéed whole
squids. Each one was purplish-gray and about the size of a head of garlic.
I tried not to think about the fact that they still had eyes.
As
we ate, the squids’ aliveness was less of a problem than I’d thought. In fact,
I rather enjoyed them. The northern Spanish coast is only half an hour away
from Oviedo, so the squids were incredibly fresh, and they were perfectly
cooked, neither squishy nor tough. I also solved the eye problem by turning the
squids facedown before I ate them.
But I still couldn’t quite stomach
the thought of eating the tentacles. They drooped behind each squid, their
pinhead-sized suction cups clearly visible. I was half expecting them to start
wiggling. I tried cutting off one squid’s tentacles and nudging them to the
side, wondering if I could avoid eating them without seeming rude.
My
host mom noticed. She smiled and said, “How come you’re not eating the
tentacles? They’re the best part. They’re really tender and salty.”
I
tried, without success, to explain my “aliveness” issue. My host mom had never
heard of such a thing, and found it hilarious. Finally, she said, “Aw, come on.
Eat your tentacles.”
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| Arroz negro, or rice cooked in squid ink, Oviedo. |
There
was a sentence I didn’t hear every day. Inspired by this, I closed my eyes and
put the removed tentacles in my mouth. They were just as my host mom had
described them: salty, tender, and delicious. The suction cups even popped as I
chewed, just like Pop Rocks candy. Soon the rest of the squids had joined their
companions, tentacles and all.
Those
little squids turned out to be some of the most effective teachers I had in
Spain. In preparation for my trip, I had tried to make myself like seafood by
eating more of it. To my dismay, this strategy hadn’t worked. So, I went to
Spain ready and willing to eat whatever seafood my host family might give me,
but prepared to not like it much. My host grandmother’s squid dish proved that
I could actually enjoy food I’d sworn I would never like, if it was cooked
right. Eating my squid tentacles was a valuable lesson in opinions: don’t be
afraid to question them, especially if they’re your own.
Epilogue:
The next time I saw garlic-sized squids (live ones this time), while swimming
off the coast of Belize, I thought, “Mmm, lunch.”