yumm
Rude Food. Live Tentacles.
http://www.vimeo.com/video_files/2005/08/01/vimeo.3777.mov
Popular for its Korean bar snacks, The Prince also pushes an odd
assortment of dishes ranging from the restaurant’s crowd pleasing fried
chicken to sea snails cooked various ways. The Prince, however, has a
culinary dark side. At the end of the heavy bound menu near the bottom
of the page are a couple of secret items known only to those who can
decipher the Korean script. Are you one of those who wish you could
sample something from the non-English menus in Asian eateries? Well, if
you are, be careful what you wish for. Acting on a tip from a Deep End
Dining reader, I scanned the menu for the live octopus tentacles he
recommended. Not seeing it right away, I noticed other intriguing yet
suspect items like sautéed silk worms. Then, believing that I spotted
my quarry on the menu, I asked the waiter if the “raw octopus
tentacles” listed on the page were also live tentacles. He shook his
head no and guided me to the back of the menu then pointed to the
Korean words. Here is where the live tentacles are found.
He asked stoically, “Are you sure you want that?”
I shot back, “Absolutely.”
I
have never been more excited anticipating an exotic dish because I knew
this one was going to be extraordinary. Ever since my brother Warren
told me about his live tentacles experience years ago in Japan, I’ve
been dreaming about the day I’d have live tentacles squirming in my
mouth. (Yeah, I know, these Lin kids are batty. Mmmm, bat.)
A
couple of soju shooters later, the waiter returned and unceremoniously
set a plate in the center of the table catching me and Diane off guard.
Some time was needed to register what we were viewing. The sight was
uncanny. It was ridiculous and sublime. Both comical and tragic like
Greek theatre masks. The raging plate of squirming, writhing and
willful baby octopus tentacles awed us. If I was the Greek hero
Perseus, then this plate before me was the severed head of Medusa the
Gorgon with her locks of seething, slithering serpents. Hyperbole? How
about understatement. Much like Medusa’s disembodied head, these
tentacles still believed they were alive - the limbs attached to a
phantom body. Diane’s head spun in a figurative way but bordered on
literal. Her brain signals and emotions were cross firing so
dramatically that she was laughing, gagging, hyperventilating and
sobbing all in the same breath. I offered her the first taste but she
replied, “When hell freezes over.” This I interpreted as a “no”.
So
with a firm grip on my chopsticks I grabbed the first…hmmph, okay…let
me start again. So with a firm grip on my chopsticks I grabbed
the…alright, just a second…I grabbed my chopsticks and nabbed the first
tenta…damnit!!
I was experiencing some technical tentacle difficulties.
You
see, one doesn’t grab live tentacles. They grab you. And they grab the
plate and the sauce dish and the slices of garlic. In fact, the suckers
suction on to anything they contact. If you are able to dip the
tentacle into any of the three escorting sauces (a chili paste with raw
thinly sliced garlic and jalapeno peppers or the pink, sweet and spicy
sauce or a salt and pepper vinegar), then, congratulations, you cleared
the first hurdle. Now try getting the thing to come off your chopsticks
and into your mouth. This is not a passive piece of toro sashimi we’re
talking about. This is an entity that does not want to be eaten alive,
dead or otherwise. This is, perhaps, even a thing that would happily
take you down with it if it were big enough. This food hates you and what you did to it!
In
every scenario I played out in my imagination as far as eating this
dish was concerned, I predicted nothing more than a brief slimy
struggle then stillness - the last words of an insignificant creature
low on the food chain. Silly me. I could not have underestimated my
dinner more because once in my mouth, the tentacle went into attack
mode and aggressively suctioned on to my teeth, tongue and bottom lip
making it nearly impossible for me to manipulate my mouth in order to
eat it. My dinner was instinctively trying to preserve its own life
while attempting to take mine by asphyxiating me. Needless to say, I
was just a little mortified by all this. It was-how would you call
it-*bleepin’* freaky!!! And if that wasn’t enough, the tentacle then
launched phase two of Operation Indigestion and began to whip itself
about in a frenzy like it was krump dancing. In my mouth was the
mollusk version of the Tasmanian Devil, ferociously flaying at the roof
of my mouth and gums. I could not believe it. The feisty, little shit
was kind of hurting me. Immediately, I snapped out of the absolute
stunned trauma of having to fight with my food and attempted to regain
control of the situation. Overpowering the tentacle with my tongue and
with a little assist from my fingers, I pried the wicked thing from my
gums and teeth. At last the tentacle became vulnerable to my molars.
Without hesitating, I bit hard on it over and over and over again while
mumbling “Die! Die! Die!” Before it could resurrect itself and do a
surprise attack like some slasher movie villain, I swallowed deeply and
gulped it down. “Get in my belly!” I gasped.
The dust finally
settled. After all that, how does live octopus tentacle taste? A little
like fury fused with fear. Spicy and garlicky because of the sauce.
There is no aftertaste but there are aftereffects. (Just don’t think
about what the tentacle might be doing in your stomach.) It certainly
doesn’t taste like cooked squid and nowhere near fried calamari. It’s
almost completely devoid of flavor. Texturally it’s highly viscous,
more resembling mucous. As far as attitude, it’s the meanest and rudest
piece of food I have ever brawled with. And this was only the first
piece.
Diane handed me another shot of soju. It was going to be a long night.
http://www.vimeo.com/video_files/2005/08/01/vimeo.3777.mov
Popular for its Korean bar snacks, The Prince also pushes an odd
assortment of dishes ranging from the restaurant’s crowd pleasing fried
chicken to sea snails cooked various ways. The Prince, however, has a
culinary dark side. At the end of the heavy bound menu near the bottom
of the page are a couple of secret items known only to those who can
decipher the Korean script. Are you one of those who wish you could
sample something from the non-English menus in Asian eateries? Well, if
you are, be careful what you wish for. Acting on a tip from a Deep End
Dining reader, I scanned the menu for the live octopus tentacles he
recommended. Not seeing it right away, I noticed other intriguing yet
suspect items like sautéed silk worms. Then, believing that I spotted
my quarry on the menu, I asked the waiter if the “raw octopus
tentacles” listed on the page were also live tentacles. He shook his
head no and guided me to the back of the menu then pointed to the
Korean words. Here is where the live tentacles are found.
He asked stoically, “Are you sure you want that?”
I shot back, “Absolutely.”
I
have never been more excited anticipating an exotic dish because I knew
this one was going to be extraordinary. Ever since my brother Warren
told me about his live tentacles experience years ago in Japan, I’ve
been dreaming about the day I’d have live tentacles squirming in my
mouth. (Yeah, I know, these Lin kids are batty. Mmmm, bat.)
A
couple of soju shooters later, the waiter returned and unceremoniously
set a plate in the center of the table catching me and Diane off guard.
Some time was needed to register what we were viewing. The sight was
uncanny. It was ridiculous and sublime. Both comical and tragic like
Greek theatre masks. The raging plate of squirming, writhing and
willful baby octopus tentacles awed us. If I was the Greek hero
Perseus, then this plate before me was the severed head of Medusa the
Gorgon with her locks of seething, slithering serpents. Hyperbole? How
about understatement. Much like Medusa’s disembodied head, these
tentacles still believed they were alive - the limbs attached to a
phantom body. Diane’s head spun in a figurative way but bordered on
literal. Her brain signals and emotions were cross firing so
dramatically that she was laughing, gagging, hyperventilating and
sobbing all in the same breath. I offered her the first taste but she
replied, “When hell freezes over.” This I interpreted as a “no”.
So
with a firm grip on my chopsticks I grabbed the first…hmmph, okay…let
me start again. So with a firm grip on my chopsticks I grabbed
the…alright, just a second…I grabbed my chopsticks and nabbed the first
tenta…damnit!!
I was experiencing some technical tentacle difficulties.
You
see, one doesn’t grab live tentacles. They grab you. And they grab the
plate and the sauce dish and the slices of garlic. In fact, the suckers
suction on to anything they contact. If you are able to dip the
tentacle into any of the three escorting sauces (a chili paste with raw
thinly sliced garlic and jalapeno peppers or the pink, sweet and spicy
sauce or a salt and pepper vinegar), then, congratulations, you cleared
the first hurdle. Now try getting the thing to come off your chopsticks
and into your mouth. This is not a passive piece of toro sashimi we’re
talking about. This is an entity that does not want to be eaten alive,
dead or otherwise. This is, perhaps, even a thing that would happily
take you down with it if it were big enough. This food hates you and what you did to it!
In
every scenario I played out in my imagination as far as eating this
dish was concerned, I predicted nothing more than a brief slimy
struggle then stillness - the last words of an insignificant creature
low on the food chain. Silly me. I could not have underestimated my
dinner more because once in my mouth, the tentacle went into attack
mode and aggressively suctioned on to my teeth, tongue and bottom lip
making it nearly impossible for me to manipulate my mouth in order to
eat it. My dinner was instinctively trying to preserve its own life
while attempting to take mine by asphyxiating me. Needless to say, I
was just a little mortified by all this. It was-how would you call
it-*bleepin’* freaky!!! And if that wasn’t enough, the tentacle then
launched phase two of Operation Indigestion and began to whip itself
about in a frenzy like it was krump dancing. In my mouth was the
mollusk version of the Tasmanian Devil, ferociously flaying at the roof
of my mouth and gums. I could not believe it. The feisty, little shit
was kind of hurting me. Immediately, I snapped out of the absolute
stunned trauma of having to fight with my food and attempted to regain
control of the situation. Overpowering the tentacle with my tongue and
with a little assist from my fingers, I pried the wicked thing from my
gums and teeth. At last the tentacle became vulnerable to my molars.
Without hesitating, I bit hard on it over and over and over again while
mumbling “Die! Die! Die!” Before it could resurrect itself and do a
surprise attack like some slasher movie villain, I swallowed deeply and
gulped it down. “Get in my belly!” I gasped.
The dust finally
settled. After all that, how does live octopus tentacle taste? A little
like fury fused with fear. Spicy and garlicky because of the sauce.
There is no aftertaste but there are aftereffects. (Just don’t think
about what the tentacle might be doing in your stomach.) It certainly
doesn’t taste like cooked squid and nowhere near fried calamari. It’s
almost completely devoid of flavor. Texturally it’s highly viscous,
more resembling mucous. As far as attitude, it’s the meanest and rudest
piece of food I have ever brawled with. And this was only the first
piece.
Diane handed me another shot of soju. It was going to be a long night.