CRAZY ATES!
OCTOPUS GETS FANCY-PANTS NYC CUISINE MAKEOVER
Posted: 3:42 am
July 16, 2008
NO, you haven't had too many margaritas - that's really octopus on your plate. Traditionally confined to old-school Greek and Italian menus, the lowly cephalopod has recently been promoted to glamourpuss status on tables around town. The eight-armed beast is putting on purply airs at restaurants as pricey - and non-Mediterranean - as Aquavit, the Four Seasons, Le Bernardin and Le Cirque.
The suction-cupped sea monster pops up at the Waverly Inn, the boldface Mecca not exactly known for a cutting-edge menu. It's due at SHO Shaun Hergatt, a French-Asian place in the glam new Setai opening on Broad Street this fall.
The "squirm" factor - the Oxford Companion to Food drolly cites "what is considered to be its alarming or repugnant appearance" - was long a reason why restaurants and customers, especially women, shunned the inky invertebrate.
Rising comic Carolyn Castiglia recalls shouting, "Omigod, what is this?" after a prank-playing high school friend hid a baby octopus in her spaghetti - "I'll never have it again." Or, as The Post's Mandy Stadtmiller succinctly put it, "YECH" (capitals hers).
Even so, octopus has broken out of what Anthos chef/co-owner Michael Psilakis calls the "ethnic" dining scene to reach a "mainstream" audience, especially among adventurous younger customers.
Octopus enjoys "the ability to marry well" with flavor constellations of many cuisines, according to Psilakis. "Octopus has a kind of specific flavor, but most interestingly it's a textural thing. Texturally, you can influence the flavor based on what you do with it - you can easily make it Asian, Indian or Moroccan."
Previous claims of an octopus uprising - a 1994 Nation's Restaurant News headline promised, "Octopus comes out of hiding" - fell short. It's a different story today. "It used to be just Italian and Greek, but now it's all over the place," says Louis Rozzo, owner of seafood wholesaler F. Rozzo & Sons on Ninth Avenue, which sells to 350 local restaurants.
"On a slow Friday in July, I sell 400 pounds of octopus, versus 100 pounds" on a similar summer day five years ago."
Several factors have propelled the octo-fuss. Octopus has shed its slimy reputation and gone to charm school at the hands of skilled modern chefs.
Rubbery specimens that needed a hacksaw to cut have given way to octopi almost tender enough for a baby to chew, like ones I had at Italian Cellini on East 54th Street (grilled in a stew of tomatoes, capers, onions and lemon) and Portuguese Alfama on Hudson Street (grilled and drizzled with cilantro coulis).
"When there was no demand, nobody knew how to cook the damn thing," says Ed Brown, chef/owner of eighty-one on the Upper West Side.
