Octa-awesome Lulu & Po

A wooden board arrives like a small stage, and on it a single octopus tentacle curves in a quiet, deliberate arc. The char catches the light in little dark freckles, the suction cups lined up like punctuation, as if the sea learned to write and chose fire for ink.

In the middle sits a metal cup of green sauce, calm and glossy. It looks simple until you lean in, until you notice the way it holds the room’s warmth and the smell of the grill. This is the kind of plate that makes you slow down without asking.

Octa-awesome Lulu & Po fits, not because it’s loud, but because it’s playful in that restrained, neighborly way Fort Greene does best. You take a bite and the texture shifts from crisp edges to tender pull, and suddenly you’re paying attention to everything: the grain of the board, the low clink of the cup, the wood table under your elbows.

Some meals feel like upgrades. This one feels like a small memory you didn’t know you were making until it’s already gone.