Paul the Psychic Octopus

I was introduced to Paul only recently in one of those all too common (albeit for only one month every four years) World Cup moments where two people of disparate backgrounds, conflicting team allegiances and a hefty language barrier get together to chat football.  In this case, a dashing young Croatian waiter, having been made aware of my Spanish allegiance, informed me that Paul the Psychic Octopus had chosen Spain to win the World Cup semifinal against Germany.

"Paul the Psychic Octopus??" you ask, well yes. Rumors abound whether Paul was hatched  (allegedly in England) or found in waters off the Isle of Elba.  Regardless, given the short lifespan of octopi (around 3 years) Paul has officially retired--it's gotta be hard with all that pressure, correctly predicting the outcome of all 7 of Germany's World Cup games (8 if you count the Finals).  Ironically, just as I learned of Paul, so too did I arrive to Croatia's Dalmatian Coast, where octopus is something of a delicacy, if not a completely delicious everyday snack.

In fact, almost every meal featured some sort of octopus or squid--grilled, fried, baked, carpaccio'd, or gently tossed in oil and vinegar.  Despite my best efforts to support Paul's cause (after Germany's loss to Spain there was considerable worry that Paul's fate would be a large serving plate rather that a nice aquarium retirement--Prime Minister Zapatero offered Paul a team of bodyguards), I was hard pressed to give up my octopus eating. (The moral agony is evident here as I polish off a lovely octopus salad in Split...alas the stomach tends to win out over the heart in such matters).

Croatian food, as it turns out, is a funny thing.  According to Wikipedia it is "the cuisine of regions," an apt description of a country who is just now forging an independent identity (politically, if not culinarily).  Gastronomically speaking, the foods of Croatia have long been influenced by the nomadic movements of conquering peoples dating back to pre-Roman times.  Croatia is an emblematic example of the complete arbitrariness of political boundaries as related to food...critics say that Americans, with our 200 plus years of independence, do not have a national cuisine...then how is it possible for Croatians with a mere 19 years of independence lay claim to any semblance of a national culinary identity?  In our postmodern world, my answer to both questions is, there is none.  Cuisine varies everywhere (California, New York, Croatia) by region depending on climate, population, agricultural/aquacultural opportunities, etc.  You cannot possibly define this by a changeable political boundary delineating "us" from "them" (Who are they anyway? If the Balkan war illustrates anything, it is that tomorrow they could just as easily be us).  Do we think of mussels in a rich white wine and garlic broth spiked with paprika as ex-Yugoslavian food?  Personally, I don't, and yet some of my favorite Dalmatian meals were just that (well, could theoretically be called that if eating over a map).

In Dalmatia, foodstuffs are heavily influenced by two things: the Adriatic Sea and Italy.  Considering that the Romans and the Venetians conquered this coast (as well as the large influx of Italian tourism today) it is no wonder that seafood pastas, carpaccios, pizzas and insalatas dominate menus from island to island.  Every now and then, however, glimpses of Croatian folk tradition emerge....and voila, the Croatian Peka.  A peka is a cast iron pot (which used to be fashioned by a village's blacksmith), with a flat, plate-like bottom and a bell-shaped lid.  Generally, it is filled with meat or octopus (octopus being a hardy tissue that can stand up to hours of slow cooking) with potatoes and assorted vegetables, a dash of seasoning and some water.  It is settled into the embers of a fire, covered with ash and left to mellowly baste in its own juices for about 2 hours (rather ingenious if you ask me). 

The result, some of the most succulent octopus that has ever graced my tastebuds.  We sampled our octopus under the bell (as the Croatian's charmingly translate the name of the dish) on the island of Mljet at Restaurant Bourbon in the town of Polace (see right).  Tender, surprisingly juicy, my remorseful feelings of betraying Paul swiftly evaporated as the tentacles (of what could have been Paul's wife/lover/uncle/grandaughter) caressed my palate....I mean literally caressed it was that good.  To my mind, the Croatians, despite their continued grapple with the after-effects of a very modern war (psychological and physical), are still able to entice with the beguiling simplicity of their cuisine.

As for Paul, recent news has informed me that the Iranian leader Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has proclaimed my psychic cephalopod mollusk friend the symbol of all that is bad and evil in the Western world.  Surprisingly, I am inclined to agree--encasing a wild animal for a constructed public spectacle, attributing to it an anthropomorphic sentience and lifestyle (octopus retirement, octopus fame, octopus sixth sense, really?) while we willfully pollute its natural habitat and gluttonously consume it's flesh (that might just be me) is a bit hypocritical.  That and someone had the "brilliant" idea to create an unofficial ask Paul iphone app to make all of your difficult decisions for you.  In fact, word on the street in South Africa is that production has started on a movie about Paul.  Celebratizing an octopus may be going a bit far, but all that is evil in the Western world? I mean, Spain did win the World Cup after all...enjoy your retirement Paul, you deserve it!