The squid vs calamari distinction referred to obliquely in the giant squid post below illustrates how fashion and publicity can so quickly run afoul our “strongly held cultural beliefs”.

Culinary delicacies in our house when I was growing up included both squid and octopus. The former (calamar, in Spanish, plural: calamares) were available, fresh and cheap, at the local fishmongers (yes! we had ethnic fish markets in our town when I was a kid). I loved it, deep-fried in batter. Of course, my Cracker friends thought it was barbaric, although no doubt they are willing to pay outrageous prices for it now in fancy restaurants. Just don’t call it “squid”.

The octopus was not available fresh in Florida, there is no large species in Gulf or Caribbean waters. But we would occasionally find imported canned “Pulpo en su Tinta” (“Octopus in its own ink”) in the Cuban grocers, and it was always a big delicacy at our place, served over rice. It came all the way from Spain
in big oval tins, like sardines.

I didn’t particularly care for the octopus, it had a bitter taste (from the ink) that I didn’t like, but that the growups thought was terrific. I thought it was awfully tough, like chewing rubber, but that is the case with almost any mollusk if not properly prepared fresh. Even the delicious abalone I became addicted to in California is inedible unless the chef knows exactly what he’s doing.

The Cracker watermen liked preparing stewed conch and whelk, and they made a chowder from the tiny Coquina clams that was pretty good, but the Cubans would just roll their eyes and tell themselves “How can they put that in their mouths?”