Cephalopod lovers had a field day at the market yesterday. Octopus, cuttlefish (above), and squid of every size and color — and incredibly fresh, too. At one stall, the tile counter was covered with dark-spotted nukos laid hither and yon, and the display shimmered, I kid you not. The squid were changing colors in a desperate bid to camouflage themselves, survive that alien environment. It was both fascinating and poignant to behold. I took a video, telling myself those creatures had no feelings, only instinct.*
You can very well see for yourself, so I won’t try to describe the spectacle, but rather explain the chemistry behind it. Those shifting and undulating colors are the work of chromatophores, located just beneath the surface of their skin. These cells are actually minute ink sacs (there are thousands of them) that contain different pigments, and they contract (disappear) or expand (become visible) depending on whether the animal wishes to stand out, or to match their skin tones to their surroundings to make themselves invisible. Now imagine what it took to bring that plate of calamares to your table.
The vendor insisted that these were the “real” nukos sa piliw. “Those pale things? They’re from the deep, if the shallow end of it. These ones here are actually from the shoals.” The squid he was disparaging? These:
–which I just happened to have bought from a nearby stall, being my squid of choice, and which I had been taught to recognize as nukos sa piliw. Was this guy jerking us around? (He was acting like a clown, that was for sure.) Jenny bought some of his squid anyway, on account of their freshness. On the way home, I had her run me through her sister’s adobong nukos recipe.
And behold:
What can I say? This is how squid adobo should be. Simple, and yet utterly sublime. I tweaked the recipe, but not by much. First, marinate half a kilo of cleaned squid (well-drained) in three tablespoons of cane vinegar, half a teaspoon of soy sauce, a teaspoon of cracked black pepper, two bay laurel leaves, and a pinch of sugar. Then sauté five cloves of crushed garlic in two tablespoons of oil, keeping the heat on low so they do not burn. When they turn golden, add the marinated squid, stirring to mix. Cover your pot/pan and allow the squid four minutes to cook, stirring halfway. Salt to taste. If you prefer the dish saucy rather than soupy (squid give off a lot of water), remove squid (set aside) and let the liquid boil until reduced; I waited until it was hissing in the pan, added about two tablespoons of lard (you can use more oil), stirred the squid back in to coat with the sauce, and switched off the heat.
Cooking time: less than ten minutes. My father actually thought the squid were overcooked, they were so tender (but definitely not mushy!). If you like them with more bite, cook the squid a bit longer — just be warned that you’re on your own thence. I’m getting on with the show. More rice please, Manang.
* I know I should be ashamed of myself for saying that, especially since I have dogs whom I love dearly. Bottom line is, I have people (and also those dogs!) to feed, and I’m thankful that sea creatures are generally unable to vocalize their distress. Chicken and pig are obviously more problematic. «
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