Grilled Octopus: A true late-night Kitchen Chronicle
I had just gotten back from Florida. A full week of hot sun, sand, seafood cravings, and a very real jellyfish sting that left a welt and a little bit of attitude. I was itchy, salty, and in the mood to bring some of that coastal vibe home with me, minus the tentacle trauma, perhaps with some delicious grilled octopus.
So naturally, like any mom who romanticizes the idea of coming home and cooking something “light but flavorful,” I went to the seafood market.
I told myself I was just going to grab a few things for dinner. You know—maybe some shrimp, maybe a fillet or two of snapper. Something simple.
But no. What did I come home with?
An octopus. A whole one. With legs. Seven of them, to be exact.
How I Started My Grilled Ocotpus Adventure
Let me back up.
The snapper went beautifully, by the way. I seasoned it like my ancestors were watching. Jerked it, grilled it, done. I even made a fresh pot of cilantro lime rice because I thought it would go well with both dishes—bright enough for the octopus, gentle enough not to fight the jerk. It was supposed to be a “choose your own seafood adventure” kind of night.
But the second I pulled that octopus out of the bag… it turned into a horror movie.
How to Cook Octopus, but first, the Sink Scene
Now let’s be clear. The market had cleaned it. There was no head, no beak, no mystery bits. It was dead. But the moment I dropped it into the sink, that thing flopped like it had a message from the underworld. It twisted, it jiggled, and I swear to you, Camille-to-you, it knew.
It knew what I was about to do.
And somehow, I knew what it used to be. Big. Smart. Soft. Floating somewhere in the deep. I’ve studied marine life. I’ve watched those videos where octopuses squeeze through impossibly small holes and escape aquariums. I know they can open jars. I know they remember faces. And here I was cooking one.
I stared down at it. It stared back, kind of. The sucker marks were giving me flashbacks to the jellyfish tentacles that slapped me in Florida.
And all I could think was: WTF (if any kids are reading this… WTF stands for Wednesday, Thursday, Friday)
Why Grilled Octopus?
The truth? I didn’t have a solid reason.
I was curious. Inspired. And honestly? A little hyped up from unlocking Ursula in Disney Dreamlight Valley. It felt like fate. I was living my sea-witch fantasy… except it quickly spiraled into a moment of late-night existential dread.
I do most of my experimental cooking at night, after my daughter’s asleep. It’s quiet. It’s also where the unhinged ideas live. Thank God she didn’t see what was in that sink, because the trauma would be generational.
I Cooked It Anyway…
I couldn’t not.
First, I toasted garlic, rosemary, sage, thyme, and onion in my Copper Chef pan until it smelled like bravery. Poured in some Marsala wine—because that’s what I had—and added lemon zest, lemon juice, and even the pulp, because at that point I was just hoping citrus would cover my emotional panic.
I built a whole herbal, winy bath and gently slid the octopus in like I was sending it off to a better place.
It was braised for about an hour. Then I finished it on my digital grill until the tentacles curled and the edges crisped up beautifully.
Technically, it came out perfect.
But I Still Couldn’t Eat It
I plated it with my Cilantro Lime rice. I tasted it. The flavor? Incredible. Deep, earthy, citrusy. The texture? Tender, smoky, not rubbery at all.
And yet… all I could hear in my head was:
“Poor Unfortunate Souls…”
I tried, I did. But I couldn’t get past the idea of it reforming in my stomach and bursting out like a revenge monster. My brain wouldn’t let me enjoy it. Mind over matter is real—and in this case, my mind mattered a lot.
Would I Make Grilled Octopus Again?
No.
Would I recommend it to someone else? Sure—if you’re braver than I am.
Would I order it at a restaurant? Not anymore. I’m good on calamari, too. The trauma has extended.
Some foods, once you cook them, you don’t ever want to eat them again. Not because they weren’t good. But because you know too much.
If You Prefer Seafood Without Tentacles…
Try one of these instead:
- Jerk Snapper (Coming Soon)
- Grilled Lobster Tails (Coming Soon)
- 3-Ingredient Teriyaki Salmon
- Rasta Pasta with Shrimp
- Jamaican Escovitch Fish
All flavor. No soul-crushing mental visuals.
For the Curious Cooks…
You can still find octopus at specialty seafood markets, often frozen and pre-cleaned. If you’ve got the stomach for it, and you want a dish with restaurant-quality flavor and a bold backstory, I salute you. My full Recipe for this Grilled Octopus is down below.
💌 Want more late-night kitchen chaos and real-life recipes?
Subscribe to Camille’s Comforting Cuisine
☕ Love the story? Tentacle therapy isn’t free: Buy Me a Coffee
Braised and Grilled Octopus
Marsala-Braised & Grilled Octopus
4
servings20
minutes1
hour10
minutes1
hour30
minutesThis deeply flavorful octopus is braised in Marsala wine with toasted herbs, garlic, lemon, and onions, then grilled to perfection. It’s a bold culinary adventure with perfect texture and serious flavor payoff—even if you end up emotionally conflicted about eating it (like I did).
Keep the screen of your device on
Ingredients
1 whole octopus (2.5–3 lbs, cleaned and rinsed)
1 cup Marsala wine (sweet or dry)
4-5 water (enough to cover the octopus)
1 small onion, quartered
6 cloves garlic, smashed
Zest + juice + pulp of 1 lemon
2 bay leaves
3 sprigs rosemary
3-4 sprigs sage
5+ sprigs thyme
1 teaspoon black pepper (freshly cracked preferred)
2 teaspoons coarse salt
Olive oil (for brushing and finishing)
Optional: smoked paprika, chili flakes, lemon wedges, fresh herbs for serving
Directions
- Toast aromatics: In a large dry pot or Dutch oven over medium heat, toast the rosemary, sage, thyme, onion, and garlic for 3–5 minutes until fragrant and slightly charred. Stir occasionally so nothing burns.
- Deglaze with wine and lemon: Add the Marsala wine to the pot to deglaze. Stir, then add the zest, juice, and pulp of one lemon.
- Build the braising liquid: Pour in enough water to submerge the octopus later (about 4–5 cups). Add bay leaves, black pepper, and coarse salt. Bring to a gentle boil.
- Add the octopus and braise: Gently lower the cleaned octopus into the pot. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 45–60 minutes, or until a knife pierces the thickest part of the tentacle easily.
- Let it rest: Turn off the heat and let the octopus cool slightly in the braising liquid for 10–15 minutes to soak up flavor.
- Prep for grilling: Remove the octopus, pat it dry with paper towels, and cut into tentacle sections or halves. Brush with olive oil and lightly sprinkle with salt.
- Grill instructions
- Preheat grill to 450–500°F. Grill tentacles over high heat for 3–4 minutes per side, until the edges are crisp and slightly charred.
- Oven alternative
- Preheat oven to 475°F. Place octopus pieces on a wire rack over a foil-lined sheet tray. Roast for 10–12 minutes, flipping once. Broil for 1–2 minutes at the end for extra char.
- Serve: Finish with a drizzle of olive oil, a squeeze of lemon, and optional smoked paprika or chili flakes. Serve hot.
Camille’s Notes
- This recipe is packed with bold, earthy flavor. While the technique and texture are on point, eating octopus isn’t for everyone, especially if you’re emotionally sensitive to sea creatures or haunted by The Little Mermaid. Try it once, and if it’s not for you, you can at least say you cooked it beautifully. Bon Appetit
Did you make this recipe?
Tag @camilles_comforting_cuisine on Instagram and hashtag it with
Like this recipe?
Follow camillescomfortingcuisine on Pinterest
