BBQ explorations: in a grilled octopus's garden

My next-door neighbours are hyper-friendly, cacophonous Greeks (five of the 60 000+ of them in our fine city). They literally have barbecued-something eight days a week and as result, they're also experts at adding that fresh charcoal-barbecue smell to my laundry-line wash. 

However, they always seem to cook the same meats and though their grillades taste pretty good,  I hoped to one-up them by grilling up this octopus platter:

[Grilled octopus. Omnomnomnom.]

... which started off as this critter:

[My eight-legged supper]

Taking off on Peter Minakis' mouth-watering guidelines on grilling octopus (from his ace blog Kalofagas.ca), I forgoed (forwent?) cooking the octopus with a cork because a) it sounds gross, especially if the cork tissue starts disintegrating in the water, b) the wine bottle cork I had lying around might have been hybrid plastic/cork, and c) I don't think a single cork is enough to tenderize an entire octopus*.

Awesome food science writer and author Harold McGee says leave the cork stoppers in the wine bottles when cooking octopus. Sorry Lidia, Mario and the gang... you're still loved regardless.

If you can find fresh octopus, I am jealous. This one came frozen from Mourelatos.

[Octopus underside. Notice the mouth in the centre; this is what you need to cut out, or it will bite you while you eat.]

Grilling octopus is pretty much child's play, though I doubt small childrens (or even squeamish adults) would want to touch this). Seriously... it's not like you have to harpoon it and wrestle it – it's already murdered for you!

Cooking a frozen one just involved thawing, cleaning (cutting out the mouth and eyes), and then dipping the tentacles in simmering water to curl them prior to steaming them. Once they're steamed, they get marinated and then grilled and then eaten.

[Dipping the tentacles in boiling water prior to steaming them makes them curly and cute, like perming them.]

Were my neighbours jealous? They probably would have been if they had seen it (had it not been inhaled by hungry, hungry hippos first). 

* According to this study from 2001, enzymes from natural cork stoppers were proven to be able to decompose cellulose and cell walls of other plantstuffs but doesn't mention anything about octopuses. I rest my case.

Phyllo fanatics' fresh fixation

Sometimes, the very thought of phyllo pastries (made of phyllo dough, filo, phyllo pastry leaves, börek, pâte phyllo, etc) makes my arteries preemptively clog up, or my blood pressure spike.

Often in Greek and Middle Eastern traditions, each fine layer of fragile dough is slathered with melted butter or oil to make them crispy, often resulting in rich, flaky, rich and deliciously full-bodied, and buttery rich (my heart just hiccuped writing that).

However, at Melina's Phyllo Bar, your heart can rest easy: the pastries here are ace, and perfectly crispy without being overly oily.

Following our intense ninja vampire-hunter training, my buddy Leo and I headed over to this cozy shop in the armpit heart of Mile-End to fill our tummies.


[Leek pie (prasopita), it's vegan, but all Greek to me! Wakka-wakka....]

Here, phyllo pastries are treated like members of the royalty — adored as the centre of attention, yet unassuming and delicate; both the savoury and sweet fillings are tasty. The phyllo is slightly thicker than store-bought phyllo, but if you've ever tried to make phyllo, you know it's the work of a demon spawn... Joanna, the amazors co-proprietor, says it's a secret recipe for which she pretty much has exclusivity —  and not made commercially, so suck it to all those creeping restaurateurs looking to try to muscle in on Melina's phyllo. She's got two armed ninja bodyguards watching over her!


[Spanakopita: feta and spinach and half-eaten, thanks to Leo.]


[Background: photo collage of Melina Mercouri, the modern muse of Greece and also shop's inspiration. Oh, and Leo in the foreground, burping.]


[Leo tried to hide the entire bougatsa (semolina custard pastry) in her mouth from the prying eyes of pedestrians on Parc avenue. It worked.]

After the pastries are all hidden in your stomach, you can chase it all down with a variety of espresso-based drinks. I chose to wash my phyllo pastries down with a Greek soda concoction called Ivi (owned by Pepsico, of course); Melina's is the first in this province to carry this product.


[Ivi uncarbonated orangeade, a taste of nostalgia. Remember when you had school events, and they always served that orange drink from the giant yellow and red drink dispenser cooler from McDonald's? That's what Ivi is, and it brings a tear to my eye.]

Chow and Leo ninja-refuelling rating for Melina's = 4 ninja stars.

Melina's Phyllo Bar
5733 ave. du Parc
(514) 270-1675 

greeks do it fest

every year, smack dab in the middle of august, the greeks in the greek-centric neighbourhood of montreal put on a grand little street festival, complete with rides, dancing, hellenic music, and (most importantly) greek food.

there's no shortage of souvlaki, spit-roasted pork, and other dead meats, grilled octopus, greek salad with fantastic feta, and these: loukoumades (greek honey balls).

[i ate 6 of these loukoumades in one sitting. that's $3 worth of deep fried delectableness. i also now have recurring dreams about riding loukoumades balls down a waterfall made of honey and sandbanks made of cinnamon dust, except i can't swim so it's kind of scary.]

[everyone's favourite yiayia making those delectable loukoumades and fighting off the hornets!]

you know this is a culture where people eat not just for the sake of eating and merry-making, but to make sure everyone else around you gets fatter than you do.

[spit-roasted pork for sale. note the wild-looking butcher in the background. he's famous!]


don't miss next year's festivities so you can hasaposerviko* with the gang!

* i don't think that's a verb but whatever.