Despite its small size, RI has a surprising number of emblematic foods. Many seem random, like the New York System weiner or the Awful-Awful. But others make sense. I’m talking about the seafood. With over 400 miles of coastline, the bounty of Narragansett Bay and the Atlantic Ocean are always close at hand. Summer beach crowds flock to clam shacks and indulge in chowder, fried littlenecks, clam cakes, and lobster rolls. Seaside restaurants boast impressive raw bars with oysters grown in the bay’s many inlets or in the coastal salt ponds of the state’s southern shore.
While oysters may be popular, the quahog is the state’s most iconic mollusk. Enjoyed by the Narragansett for centuries, this large clam is a staple in the state’s culinary history and culture. However, the most fished species off the coast of Rhode Island in 2023 was the longfin squid, with over 26 million pounds being brought into our ports, according to the 2023 Rhode Island Annual Fisheries Report by the DEM. While calamari celebrates its 10th year as the state’s official appetizer, the dish graces menus across our tiny state, and once drew national attention in the unforgettable 2020 Democratic National Convention when Joseph MacNamara dubbed RI the “calamari comeback state.”
Squid is prolific in our waters and on our menus, and yet I’ve never prepared it at home. Its tentacles, tubular body, and large eyes make it a daunting at-home endeavor. But I’m never one to back away from a challenge. I recently purchased a full squid from Brightside Seafood Market in Narragansett’s Bonnet Shores neighborhood: tentacles, eyes, and all. Brightside looks as though it was built inside an old house. The dark wood interior contrasts with the brightly lit cases which display the local catch. When I went, they had sushi-grade scallops, tuna, and fluke all fished from our shores. And there on the ice was a full squid. About two feet in length, from the longest tentacle to the tip of its tubular body, this squid was pulled from the waters off Point Judith Lighthouse.
To prepare a full squid, one must separate the tubular body, or the mantle, from the head and tentacles. One does this simply by pulling. As I put my hands around the creature’s dead, slimy body and pulled, I heard a faint ripping sound. Slowly, and requiring more force than I expected, the two parts of the squid came apart. Once separate, a long trail of innards came out of the mantle and spilled out onto my cutting board. Not the most pleasant sight, but hey, we’re getting to know our food here: This isn’t your sterile, pre-packed frozen squid. This squid was clearly living a complex underwater life up until recently. Being this close to your meal means you gotta roll up your sleeves and get messy.
Next, I severed the head from the tentacles and arms of the squid. Using a knife, I cut just below the cephalopod’s dead eyes. This cut exposed the animal’s mouth: a pointed bird-like beak. Squid are carnivores, surviving off fish, crustaceans, and other cephalopods, like octopus and cuttlefish, or even other squid. After removing the beak, I also removed the semi-rigid, plastic-like bone from the mantle. Actually made from chitin, a material that commonly makes up exoskeletons, the pen retains the squid’s shape and helps control its buoyancy. Quite useful to the squid, the pen is inedible to humans, and so, useless for this endeavor. I discarded it. Then, I peeled off the squid’s speckled skin and discarded that as well. If left on, it apparently makes the squid tougher when cooked. I cut open the mantle, removed any guts that were left attached, and scored the inside of the body, which I then cut into bite-sized pieces.
I cut the eight arms into three pieces and the two long tentacles into thirds. Next, I heated a griddle pan to a very high temperature. A common adage when cooking squid is “three minutes or thirty minutes.” Either hot-and-fast or low-and-slow. Anything other will result in chewy squid.
I tossed my squid in oil and once the cast-iron griddle was scorching hot, I placed the pieces on the pan. Immediately, the pieces began to sizzle. Contracting and curling up in the heat, the squid cooked, releasing a rich odor that was not exactly fish-y but not neutral like chicken; this scent was unctuous and enveloping. I turned the squid, browning each side. Once seemingly cooked, I tossed the pieces in a marinade I had prepared before: a hearty splash of olive oil, a big squeeze of lemon, and generous amounts of salt, pepper, dried garlic, and lemon peel, along with about a third of a cup of finely chopped parsley. Served with a side of orzo, and loaded with more fresh parsley and plenty of parmesan, my meal evoked summer barbe-cues. Picture perfect, I tucked in, only to find my squid rubbery and tough to chew. Alas, not all cooking adventures end in success; but it’s always fun trying, right? •
Photo by Malia Erikson
