the king of the sea

I love seafood. Apart from anything else I always feel a bit more virtuous after eating it; always bearing in mind that some species like the bluefin tuna are on the brink of extinction and should be left in peace.
If asked for my favourite seafood, in the UK I might well go for scallops. However, they are expensive, and if I see another episode of Masterchef featuring scallops and black pudding, I won't be responsible for my actions.
If I were asked the same question in Spain, I would opt for cuttlefish. How to translate the name of my favourite mollusc into Spanish though, is a bit tricky. Probably the most common word is sepia, although the word jivia is probably almost as prevalent. Choco and its dimunitive form choquito are also common and I have also seen chopito even though chopo is a type of tree (poplar, I think). Anyway, whatever you call it, the firm, snow-white flesh of the cuttlefish is one of my absolute favourites. It is usually served grilled - a la plancha - with a bit of olive oil, salt and, usually, some flat-leafed parsley. Both squid and cuttlefish have a slimy membrane that covers their bodies. This is normally a purplish sort of colour with black flecks. As it looks a little bit unpleasant, most people simply scrape it off with a sharp knife: the work of a few seconds. In Greece, however, they often leave this membrane in place. When cooked intact, the squid or cuttlefish will often show traces of this purplish colour. Whilst I can't be sure that it is not wishful thinking, I have always thought that this membrane, although slimy and unpleasant in the raw state, actually improves the flavour. The best squid I have ever eaten was in the Ferryman Taverna in Elounda, Crete. This was the setting for the BBC series "Who pays the ferryman?". The last time we were there, Cheryl and I witnessed one of the corniest attempted seductions that you could imagine. But I digress. Such is the nature of the blog. 
Within Europe, I have only ever seen cuttlefish on menus in Spain and Portugal. In Albufeira, on the last afternoon of a week-long holiday, we stumbled across a bar that featured a Brazilian style feijoada made with cuttlefish. It was absolutely amazing. Why we don't eat this particular relative of the squid and octopus in this country, I do not know. It is not for the lack of them in our seas. On the beach at Portsmouth one day, I saw the remains of thousands - maybe even hundreds of thousands - of them. Although so many years later, I can't recall if I saw the bodies or just the internal shell; the same shell that budgies favour for the sharpening of their beaks. They like to keep their beaks sharp so that they can tear apart the flesh of their natural enemy, the aardvark. Never let your aardvark anywhere near a budgie if you can help it. 
Actually, I have just remembered that in Lucca last year, I had a dish of cuttlefish with peas that was beyond sublime.
But to return to more serious matters. One of my points for today was the number of different ways of referring to cuttlefish in Spanish. Translating the names of fish and seafood that are eaten in any significant commercial quantities can be a nightmare. The best way to do it is to find out the scientific (Latin) name of the animal concerned and then cross reference. This is particularly the case with crustacea. Then there are always regional variations to deal with. Calamares are sometimes referred to (perhaps more in speech than in writing) as caramales. Meatballs - albondigas - are sometimes referred to as almondigas (try looking that one up in a dictionary) and in Seville the ubiquitous croquetas sometimes morph into cocretas (That famous sevillano sense of humour again).Anyway, to cut a long story short, if you haven't yet tried cuttlefish, I can heartily recommend this splendid mollusc. 
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