Squid's In

A week ago I was living happily in a rather fine house in north-east Corfu. I'm very fond of Greek food and had been indulging in the occasional souvlaki, stifado, and aubergine fritters. One day Mik and I decided to drive to Paleokastritsa to have a look at the monastery. The monastery was fine but the resort did not appeal. Nevertheless, some steep climbing under the noon sun had stimulated our appetites and we ended up at a large characterless restaurant at the port. The shingle beach was empty but there was one lady swimming majestically slowly while wearing her sunglasses and big dangly earrings.

The air was humid and oppressive and we sat uncomfortably waiting for service. Eventually a waiter made his way from the other end of the restaurant to our table (a journey of about five minutes). Our spirits sank further as he explained the menu was hugely restricted because of an electricians' strike (life in 2011 Greece). He rattled through a list of available items and, thoughtlessly, we both opted for squid. We were picturing delicate rings of fresh squid fried in light batter, served perhaps with a few chips, and a big juicy half lemon. I don't know how we imagined this could be produced without electricity.

About twenty-five minutes later our waiter returned with a dish in each hand and presented us with lunch. I was already perspiring but the contents of my plate brought me out in even more of a sweat. Lying there, in a little pool of oil, was a giant squid. Well, it wasn't technically a true giant squid, but it was the vastest squid I'd encountered on a dinner plate. Each tapered end of the beast hung over the edge of the plate, and it was about the size of a very large slipper, complete with wings. 'You don't have to eat the wings,' said Mik in an attempt at dispersing the growing gloom. A light lunch!  This was grilled squid cooked, of course, over a charcoal fire. It lay there challenging me, with a few scraps of salad and a helping of extra tentacles on the side.

The waiter brought a large basket of toast to help the squid slip down.

I cut off a slice of flesh and ate. Mik made a start on hers. Another slice. Then another slice. And each slice was bigger than the previous slice.

The afternoon wore on. The lady wandered up the beach; I noticed that her bikini bottom featured a kind of daft frilly skirt; she ordered a beer. We ate more slices of squid and nibbled the dry toast. We'd each got about halfway through our respective cephalopods when we looked at each other and agreed - no more slices. Anyway, I was feeling particularly ill-done-to as Mik's squid was a tiny bit smaller than mine.

We sat for ten minutes viewing the cold remains until the waiter made his long way back. Oh yes, very good indeed, but such generous portions!

(And twelve euros each, not counting the dry toast.)

Leaving the restaurant felt like an escape. Still, it could've been worse. In Florida I saw the remains of a squid - 27 feet long.

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