Ceviche De Pulpo – Octopus Ceviche With Lime And Chile.
Okay, okay… you will not believe what happened last weekend. It involved my cousin Paco, a mariachi band, and a very unfortunate incident with a lime. ¡Ay Dios mío!
So, ceviche. You think it’s just fish in lime juice, right? Wrong. This is ancient history, mija. The Incas were doing something like ceviche with fish marinated in chicha, fermented corn drink. Centuries before anyone even thought about little lime wedges. Then the Spanish came along—(they always come along, don't they?)—and introduced citrus fruits. Suddenly, boom! Ceviche as we know it started taking shape. Peru claims it, Ecuador claims it, Mexico claims it... everyone wants a piece of the ceviche pie (which, honestly, is a pretty good pie).
But octopus ceviche? That’s different. That’s serious. It’s coastal Veracruz, it's a Sunday afternoon feast, and it's a test of your patience because getting tender octopus is like trying to convince my uncle Rafael to admit he's wrong. Impossible. Traditionally, pulpo needs serious massaging, sometimes beating—(like a piñata, but with more tentacles)—to break down those fibers. And then a slow simmer. Everything takes time. Everything except my Tía Mildred’s gossip, that travels faster than any rumor.
My grandmother, she learned from her mother, who learned from… well, someone whose name got lost in the family drama over generations. (Honestly, half our history is arguments about who made the best mole.) But this ceviche, the pulpo, that was always special. She only made it for big occasions: quinceañeras, baptisms, when someone finally sold their house. You know, real life stuff.
Last year, I tried to make it myself. Big mistake. The octopus was like rubber bands. Like trying to chew on my abuelo’s work boots. My cousin Sofia laughed so hard, she snorted green salsa out of her nose. (She has zero shame, that one.) Then Paco, being the "helpful" cousin, decided he knew better. He said, “You need to sing to it! Octopus loves music!”
And he called a mariachi band. Seriously. A full-blown mariachi band showed up at my kitchen door, trumpets blazing, while I was wrestling with a pot of chewy octopus. The neighbors thought we were throwing a block party. It was chaos. Utter, beautiful chaos.
The octopus remained tough.
Then came the lime incident. Paco, convinced his singing wasn't enough, started squeezing limes directly onto the octopus while the mariachi band played. He squeezed so hard, juice went everywhere. Splattered on the ceiling, on the band, on my new curtains! One of the trumpet players slipped and fell, nearly taking out the entire buffet table. And my Tía Mildred? Oh, she was documenting everything on her phone, narrating like it was a telenovela. ("¡Ay, la tragedia! The poor octopus, assaulted by citrus!")
I wanted to disappear. To move to Alaska and become a hermit. But then… something magical happened. The lime, combined with the mariachi vibrations (don’t ask me how), finally tenderized the octopus. I swear to you.
It wasn’t perfect. There was still salsa smeared on everything. The mariachi band demanded payment in tacos. But the ceviche? It was incredible. Tart, spicy, perfectly textured. Everyone ate until they couldn't move. Even Sofia stopped laughing.
(Except for Tía Mildred. She was still cackling.)
We now have a strict “no mariachi bands” rule when I make ceviche. Paco is only allowed to watch. From a distance. With safety goggles. And I learned that sometimes, even the most disastrous attempts can lead to something amazing. Especially when there's lime involved. It just takes a little faith… and maybe a very strong cleaning crew.
Recipe
Ingredients 🌽🥘
- 1.5 lbs fresh octopus, cleaned
- 1 cup lime juice (about 8-10 limes)
- 1/2 white onion, thinly sliced
- 2 jalapeños, seeded and minced (or more, if you like heat!)
- 2 serrano peppers, seeded and minced
- 1/2 cup chopped cilantro
- 2 tomatoes, diced
- 1 avocado, diced (for garnish)
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- Salt to taste
- Black pepper to taste
- 1/4 cup orange juice
- 1 tsp cumin
Tools 🔪🥄
- Large pot
- Knife
- Cutting board
- Mixing bowl
- Citrus juicer
- Colander
Steps
- Start with the octopus! This is the hardest part. In a large pot, bring enough water to cover the octopus to a boil. Dip the octopus in the boiling water three times, each time for about 10 seconds (this curls the tentacles nicely—it’s kind of dramatic).
- Reduce the heat to low, add the octopus, and simmer gently for about 1.5–2 hours, or until tender. You should be able to pierce it easily with a fork. (Don’t rush this step! Trust me.) Let cool slightly, then chop into bite-sized pieces.
- In a large bowl, combine the chopped octopus, lime juice, orange juice, onion, jalapeños, serranos, cumin, olive oil, salt, and pepper. Make sure everything is coated in that glorious lime juice!
- Add the diced tomatoes and cilantro. Mix well. Taste and adjust seasonings as needed – more lime? More chile? Live a little.
- Let the ceviche marinate in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes. This lets the flavors meld together. (It also gives you a chance to clean up any stray salsa spills.)
- Just before serving, gently fold in the diced avocado. Serve immediately, garnished with extra cilantro if desired. ¡Ándale!
Make-Ahead / Storage
- The octopus can be cooked a day in advance and stored in the refrigerator.
- Marinating the ceviche for longer than 2 hours might make the octopus too “cooked” by the lime juice.
- Leftovers can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 24 hours, but the texture will change slightly.
- Don't freeze ceviche; the texture gets completely ruined.
Side Dish Pairing
- Tostadas with guacamole and a sprinkle of queso fresco. (Crunchy, creamy, cheesy… it's a fiesta in your mouth!)
- Esquites (Mexican street corn salad) – because why not add more flavor?
Tía Mildred always decía, "You know, a little chaos makes the food taste better.”
