Glimpse - Your Stories from Abroad

Live squid tastes even better when you catch it yourself. I learned this on a September afternoon in the sleepy town of Hirado, Japan. My friend had brought the necessary tools of the trade: two fishing poles, shrimp lures, and a six-pack of local brew.

After 30 minutes or so, we had managed to catch ourselves two squid. Each was about the length of my elbow to my hand, including head and tentacles—the perfect size, I was told, for eating live. We marched up from the harbor to a local izakaya, a traditional Japanese pub, most of which are known for their sarcastic, pun-loving barmen.

A gregarious older couple greeted us and complimented us on our fishing prowess. We handed them our still-live squid, and the woman filled our small, roughly hewn clay cups. The man served us a light appetizer of mountain vegetables that he and his wife had gathered that morning. And then, as we finished this appetizer, out came our live squid.

At first glance, I almost jumped out of my chair. The tentacles were still moving! I could see fluid still flowing inside its veins, and its silver-dollar-sized eyes were staring right at me.

My friend poured dark, rich soy sauce onto a dipping plate, mixed in a little wasabi, and encouraged me to dig in. At this point, perhaps because of my facial expression, the barman realized this was my first time eating the local delicacy. He announced this to the bar, and soon eight other restaurant goers had gathered around our table, ready to watch the American audition for Fear Factor.

In slow motion, my chopsticks descended toward the fruit of my newfound fishing prowess—but wait! Were the squid’s eyes following my chopsticks? No, it couldn’t be—it was just my conscience playing tricks on me… or so I hoped. I grasped a piece of the translucent squid, dipped it in the soy sauce and slam-dunked it into my mouth.

It was unlike any squid I had ever eaten: tender, flavorful and amazing. An ovation erupted from the restaurant patrons as I finished off the fillet.

After a few hours of spirited conversation and stories in a dialect that only the local fishermen could fully understand, the check finally came. I looked at it, and was surprised to see how little we were asked to pay--in fact, we were charged for nothing but the beverages. Well, I thought, I guess we did bring the main course.