Taco Night!

Yes, taco night. What red-blooded American doesn't have fond memories of family Taco Night. Whether it's observed on Taco Tuesday, Taco Friday, or for the entirety of Taco History Month; whether your tortillas be flour or corn; whether your tacos be filled with beef, chicken, cheese, or some combination of the three; whether the tacos are lovingly handmade at the table or picked up from a fast food chain, Taco Night means one thing: egalitarian distribution of labor (i.e., the much-vaunted Make Your Own Damn Taco rule). And joy, too. Two things, Taco Night means two things.

Truly, an American institution on par with Thanksgiving or Hot Dog On A Stick.

Well, as you may or may not be aware, Japan is a nation tragically bereft of tacos as we know them. Indian food abounds, as does Italian. Basically, if you want flat bread-like products topped with food, you'll have to settle for naan, pizza, or hot dogs. It's enough to make a grown man cry.

Having almost depleted the packets of taco seasoning that I smuggled into the country a month ago, Jenn and I must resort to adopting the native Japanese tako, which, while homonymous with the beloved icon of Taco Night and delicious its own right, has little to do with our Earth tacos. See figures 1 and 2:

The Japanese have a thing about anthropomorphizing their food, for some reason. This tako appears to have his own shrine in the parking lot a restaurant where he will be adorably butchered and consumed. Kawaii!

This tako...well, it doesn't have the best self esteem.

Yes, tako is, in fact, the Japanese word for octopus. Jenn and I have done our best to embrace this Osakan culinary landmark, which isn't all that hard, really; it's tasty, especially when the only bits of it you see on your plate are cut up in little unidentifiable chunks. So we've tried to make Tako Night just as special as Taco Night, even going so far as to name our wireless network after it (for our password, click here). Here is an actual graphic photo taken during our last Tako Night (warning, this picture should not be viewed by the squeamish or by anyone who doesn't like eggplant):

Not pictured: the head, including brain, beak, ink-hole, and weird-ass little mouth-tube. I threw that shit away before pulling out the camera. You're welcome!

And to prove that this is all meant to be eaten, here's fingers that could actually be mine touching what could very well be that same octopus (take that, skeptics!):

An anonymous, blurry, crooked photo? That could only be Harry!

So there you have it. I'd include a recipe, but let's be honest: you're not going to cook it. Also we more or less made it up as we went along.