When my lips were touched, again I was struck by love in an instant. Then I swallowed. The first was like a mash of grass blades cutting at my throat. I choked. The next time wasn’t nearly as brutal. Then it became pure pleasure to me. . .
For all the time Fairway has set out generous plastic olive containers of its line of special, imported olive oils, I’ve stayed clear away from sampling any. Somewhere between the germ-y issues of folks handling slices of bread in a public bowl (and proof positive I spend too much time at dearest Fairway to have witnessed the atrocities mine eyes have seen), and related double-dipping fears, to a general (and irrational) aversion (in my grad student pauper state) for free food, I just roll my cart on by.
But in the particular microcosm of food I’m a citizen of (achem), olive oil is big business; its connoisseurship now in the leagues of wine and cheese. Though personally, I consider myself a fruit connoisseur (achem) and at present am at about 60-65% fruitarian mode (or not quite even close on some days and on some eat nothing else). This ratio should likely increase as the Hudson Valley berry and stone fruit season progressess.
Fruitarian leanings apply to what is eaten at home. At cena with friends and especially during Eating Club, all bets are off. We tend to eat meat and fat and anything that seems interesting and good, and is also mindful in the ways of what mindful eating is about (or not). I digress.
Then, reading Reichl’s memoir-able trilogy the past two two weeks, and from other readings, and eating with friends of food, I hear continuously mentions of olive oils from Spain, Greece, Italy, and of the domestics from California. My curiosity piqued to what are these different flavors of olive oil. Also realized that I am a simpleton and at home use dearest Fairway’s brand extra-virgin.
So, just last week, I finally dispensed with my fears and rules, and started sampling from the Fairway olive oil ‘bar’.
At present, I’m enjoying a satisfying affair of the mouth and gut with the D.O.P. Gata-Hurdes. But if this Spaniard is not to your liking, have your way with a Pugliese, Baena D.O. (also a Spaniard), Trevi-Umbria, California, Barbera Sicilian, Kalamata Peloponnese, Australian Picual, Catalan Arbequina (and yet another—they can be so irresistable), Luque Early Harvest, or a Mexican Mission. They are there, standing at attention, waiting to seduce you too.
Thankfully, tapped here is about olive oil. Anything else would likely prove too brutal to handle or seemingly to tame. And when this affair is through, it’s best advised to rescue oneself to another—bottle.