Extra! Extra! Extra Virgin Olive Oil Fresh Off the Press!
Pressing matters, a phrase with two meanings: one defines ‘an issue of crucial importance’; the other acknowledges that how something is pressed, matters. Both are very relevant to the subject of olive oil.
On a metaphysical level olives symbolize Peace, a fragile concept. But in reality olives are rugged and hardy trees, with roots that extend deep into the ground. Not only are they extraordinary creatures, (read more about the secret life of olives), but they are practically indestructible and can withstand fire, flood and drought. Try to cut down an olive tree and you will need special equipment (the wood is hard as rock) and new branches will tenaciously spring from the roots.
Many Italians can espouse the qualities of extra-virgin olive oil, often with a preference for certain regions, which are often where they were born or where their family originated. I have become a diehard fan of the tasty and slightly piquant Campanian oil made from the racioppella, ortice and ortolana varieties, but no matter where your taste buds lie, the pressing process itself is a rite of passage that needs to be seen to better appreciate this quintessential element of Italian cuisine. Yesterday I followed my friend and olive-grower Pasquale to a small press outside S. Agata dei Goti to witness the process first-hand.
After a morning spent among the treetops combing purple olives from the branches, Pasquale brought his harvest directly to the local press. He arrived by tractor hauling the huge crates of olives that by color alone could almost be mistaken for grapes. He was tired, tense and out of sorts but it was vital that the olives be pressed quickly before fermentation set in at the bottom of the crates where the olives were being crushed by their own weight.
However, as soon as the fruits began dancing their way up the conveyor belt that would take them through the washing process, the tension began to dissipate. The responsibility had been removed from his shoulders and onto the those of the miller. He wandered outside to smoke and chat with the other farmers and returned, relaxed and smiling.
Then he climbed up the rickety ladder to watch the huge crusher, with its three enormous granite wheels, grossly crack and mash the olives. The course paste then passed through a kneader and mixer called a gramulatore. (This is where the oil and water molecules coalesce into drops of larger dimensions and is the tricky part of the process, as the temperature and amount of mixing must be carefully controlled. It is also where the dense, complex and heady perfumes of grass, artichoke, tomato, apple and even banana are released into the air!) Now his mood turned almost euphoric as he made his way past the extractor, where the oil and water are separated by centrifugal force.
Pasquale stopped in front of the spout where the oil would appear, and hovered there, legs apart, arms wrapped around his chest, anxiously awaiting the product his hard work and as the thick, green liquid began to spout forth, all the farmers gathered around to watch the vat slowly fill. The color was brilliant, phosphorescent, alive…almost extra-terrestrial!
The oil was transferred into four 25-liter, stainless-steel containers with big screw caps and loaded back onto the tractor. The four containers sat lonely on the wagon that had previously been piled high with tons of tiny fruit. It was a long day’s work, but one that would provide Pasquale’s family with oil for the whole year and hopefully a little extra to sell to friends like me!
