What's Cooking With Dive? Squid Heaven

That's where I want to go when I die.
Let's face it; who among us has never wished they were a squid at some point in their lives?
er …
Hokay, so perhaps that's only me, then.
Hey ho.

What a fucking weird life that must be …
I mean look at these two: more arms and legs than they can possibly keep track of and a beak (yes, a beak) to eat with. Intelligent design, my arse!
And sexual organs on the ends of their arms; what the fuck is that all about?
Having said that; it seems a far more logical place to put them than where mine are.

And of course, they taste Goooood!

So … Squiddies.
What shall we do with them?

Well, as the French Market is in town I'll probably use some of this.
Any PDP people reading this should click on this to enlarge it and check out the name on the label.

Right! Back to our squiddies.
These are local squid from our frozen northern waters and are deliciously tender, unlike most squid you get from the Mediterranean which are tough and chewy and put a lot of people off what is in fact a fantastic fish (strictly a cephalopod but you try finding a cephalopodmonger in your town).

Rummaging around in David the Fishmonger's stock of fresh local squid I find a couple of good big ones. Ideal for stuffing and baking and that's just what we'll be doing today.
Unfortunately, one of them has burst its ink sac but that doesn't really matter as I'm not making risotto or any other dish that needs the ink; all it means is that things are gonna get messy.

Fun!

So … Let's get gross!

For anyone who's never prepared, cleaned and gutted squid, you'll need a bowl of water, a sense of humour and … er … some squid.

First up, grasp your squid just behind the eyes with one hand and get a firm grip on its baggy end with the other.
Then simply pull … gently to start with unless you want squid guts sprayed up your kitchen walls.

Et voila! The whole thing comes apart as easily as a celebrity marriage.
If you look closely you can see a kind of see-through plasticky bit poking out of the end of the nearest bag. That's how squid are assembled.
Deep under the sea in mermaid workshops, mer-child-labourers work day and night poking the plasticky rod into the bag end and then jamming the head assembly onto the other end.

The plasticky bit is called the quill and you can tug it out of the bag as easily as you pulled the head and guts off it.

Okey-dokey; we've disassembled our squid. Now to get gory and cut the head off.

We won't be needing the ink today but you can see where the ink sac is by the fact that it has burst on the squid at the top of this photo. Should you need it for risotto or making kinky black pasta, simply puncture it and squeeze the good stuff out.

To cut away the delicious tentacles, take a hold of the head and slice through a little bit in front of the eyes. Cut too far back and you'll end up with the beak as well.
It doesn't really matter as the squid beak can simply be pulled away from the tentacles … these things are really shoddily put together; never buy anything more complicated than a squid from a mermaid as it will fall to pieces as soon as you try to use it.

Right … Now discard the head and guts; either in the bin or in the cats, and wash out the bag and the tentacles in your bowl of cold water.
Like I said; this is really shoddy workmanship so the skin simply rubs off in your hands leaving a shiny, clean white bag.
The rear fins (some people call them "ears", but those people have such a rudimentary grasp of anatomy that you should never have sex with them or allow them to perform surgery on you) can - once again - be simply pulled away from the baggy bit, rinsed and the skin peeled away.

Which leaves us - once the tentacles are cut up - with a scene like this: squid carnage.
If you're frying these, simply slice the bags into rings and heat up your oil.
Today we shall be stuffing and baking them so we need the bags intact.

To make the stuffing I'm in a Provençal kind of mood and so I'll be using some of Eric's lovely French purple garlic, a strong organic local onion, some tomatoes, some ripped up basil and coriander leaf (cilantro) and a handful of black olives, stoned and cut in two.
Plonk these all in a bowl with the tentacles and the rear fins (having cut them into smallish bits), splosh on a good gloop of your most fantastic olive oil and get messy with your fingers.

Stuff the baggy bits with some of this mixture but be careful not to overfill them as they may burst and make an awful mess of your oven.
I filled mine about three-quarters full and then sewed up the ends, leaving a tiny bit of space for air to get out.
Lightly oil the bottom of a heavy fish casserole (le Creuset is good) and place the squid in there.

Into the bowl containing the remainder of the stuffing add a couple more tomatoes and a biggish glass of exceedingly good red wine.
Don't scrimp, because (a) cheap wine will ruin the dish, and (b) you've got to drink the rest of the bottle; so I used a nice St.Emilion (around £18 a bottle; you don't need to go crazy, just make it good).
Pour that mixture over and around the squid and it's ready to bake.

This lot needs to be covered (I used kitchen foil crimped around the dish) and baked in the oven at gas mark 3 (or whatever the equivalent might be in an electric oven or an Aga) for around one and a half hours.
This is a handy dish to make if you've got guests as it gives you plenty of time to make and eat a starter while it bakes.

Once it's done, whip off the covering and grate a generous amount of good organic Parmesan over the top then flash it under the grill until the cheese is melted and bubbling and turning golden brown.

Dish it up and eat the fucker.
Boy howdy this is tasty! Ludicrously healthy, fantastic fun to make and just as good to eat.
Yummy squid heaven, with love from Old Dive.
Enjoy!