Twas the morning before Christmas

Yum!

Twas the morning before Christmas, and all through the house, all the creatures were stirring, including an octopus. In a pot of boiling water. (Well, I guess it was more that the octopus was being stirred, and pierced with a fork to test for doneness, but I digress.)

My sister was nestled, snug in her bed, with visions of anchovy sauce dancing in her head, when arose from the kitchen such a clatter she sprang from her bed to see what was the matter. And what to her sleep-filled eyes should appear but her little sister (that’s me) and her father holding aloft an octopus inverted on a spear.

“Oh god,” she moaned. “It’s too early for this!” But she should really know by now that Christmas Eve is all about fish.

And cephalopod mollusks.

Namely the aforementioned octopus, also known as pulpo to us Italians. It has been a Christmas Eve staple in my family’s version of the Feast of the [Five] Fish. A tricky piece of seafood to cook, nobody dared attempt to take over the octopus cooking duties from my Grandma was alive. But when she passed, I could not let the dish pass into my memory too. I had to keep the tradition alive. I’m getting better every year and this year a break through: I matched Grandma quality. But that wasn’t so hard to do following her cooking method (with a little bit of insurance provided by our fishmonger’s wife).

It starts with a pot of boiling water. Simple enough. But the steps to get the cephalopod simmering border on ritualistic.

After cleaning the sucker and its suckers, the next step on recipe is to dunk the pulpo in boiling water three times, then submerge it and cover the pot. After a half hour, I’m instructed to turn off the heat, and moving quickly, lift the lid, place a towel over the pot, return the lid, and fold the overhanging towel over the lid. Why I do this or the three dunk plunge? I have no idea. Because Grandma tells me too, has always been reason enough. At any rate: it works. Tender every time. As long as I put a tablespoon of white vinegar in the water, as advised by our fishmonger’s wife after year one’s catastrophe. I also like to do a little dance and say a prayer asking Grandma not to let me overcook (or under cook) the octopus.

Octopus doesn’t have a lot of flavor on it’s own, so is all about texture and thus proper cooking is key to a successful dish. You can’t fake it and you can’t fix it if you screw it up. The sauce we put over it, however, is no fail: tomato, sauteed onion and lots of olive oil. Serve with a loaf of Brooklyn bread and you’re in heaven.

I could eat this everyday, but then it wouldn’t be special.