What's Cooking With Dive? Tentacular Shenanigans

Ah, the joy of tentacles …

After my last tentacular spectacular provoked a chorus of squeamish squealing from the icky brigade (for those who like to be grossed-out, go see it here), today I have spared you the gore and eviscerations and will be posting only ready-dressed cephalopodia.

So … Get your pinny on and join me in the kitchen for some delicious mischief.

I popped in to see David this morning to order something special fresh for next weekend (yes, I'll be posting it) and while I was there I grabbed some sashimi-quality fatty tuna and a big handful of baby octopodes …

Hokay, pedants: This from the Oxford English Dictionary:
"Although it is often supposed that octopi is the 'correct' plural of octopus, and it has been in use for longer than the usual Anglicized plural octopuses, it in fact originates as an error. Octopus is not a simple Latin word of the second declension, but a Latinized form of the Greek word oktopous, and its 'correct' plural would logically be octopodes. "
So nyaah!

Anyhoo … That said, here are the little buggers, already eviscerated and cleaned and yelling "cook us!" at me.
Aren't they the cutest little things?

Right! You're sick to death of me banging on about quality olive oil and quality garlic so I'll shut the fuck up this time and just whap 'em in the pan.
Mmmm … Taste that air!

And get your ass down off my worktop you lazy sod. There's chopping boards and knives to be cleaned and plates to warm.
Hop to it!

Right … Soften that yummy garlic and toss your infant cephalopods into the hot, hot pan.
Woohoo!

In a very short time they'll start to turn white.
Give the pan a shake and then turn them over once.
This part takes no more than two minutes.

Glug …
This is Katie's fault. She said to try California chardonnay and these days Yanqui winemakers are trying to put good honest Portuguese cork pine farmers out of business by using plastic stoppers or - Heaven forfend - screw-tops like this one.
Actually, the wine is pretty bloody good, otherwise I wouldn't be cooking with it.

So sploosh a good gloop in there for the little octo-guys to party with and whack up the heat to sizzle off the alcohol (don't panic … it's not all gone; there's still most of a bottle sitting there waiting to be drunk).

Right. Rip a dozen basil leaves from the screaming plant, tear 'em to shreds and hurl them into the boiling wine (cooking is such a gentle and peaceful pastime).

Now let a couple of tomatoes and their juice join in the fun and simmer that lot for another two minutes or so.
You know my rules:
- Quantities are given in "handful", "sploosh", "gloop", "about yay much", etc.
- Cooking times are given in "until it's done".

When this is done, whop the glop on a plate with a few more basil leaves and a swirl of olive oil and serve with good olives and some deliciously fresh crusty bread from the village bakery.
And wine, of course.

Fuck, yeah!