Spanish Olive Oil- A way of life.

Olive trees in Spain as far as the eye can take you.

The Phoenicians and Greeks introduced olive oil to Spain over 3,000 years ago. Today Spain is the world's largest producer of olive oils.

This Spanish tree trunk is OLD, we heard of many trees that were 1,000 years or more.

It was the Moorish culture that left behind the word for oil in Spanish.

'Aceite' originates from the Arabic word al-zait, it means 'olive juice!' In fact, olive oil is exactly that- juice.  Why? Olives are a fruit and what we know as 'oil' is the juice squeezed from the fruit just like we do with lemons and oranges. 

Olives for sale in a Spanish market

Hippocrates, the Greek who is known as 'The Father of Medicine' called olive oil the 'great therapeutic.' What do we know about olive oil and the body today? It lowers blood pressure and raises 'good' cholesterol. It may slow the narrowing of the heart arteries. It may slow the process of age-related dementia, Alzheimer's and even give some protection against some types of cancer including bowel and breast cancers.  

There's no doubt that the diet in Spain is different than what we eat in the U.S. Their consumption of fruit, fish, wine and veggies is different to be sure. 

Here's a Spanish family eating lunch: veggies, wine, bread, olive oil and ham without a lick of nitrates or nitrites.

The biggest thing that struck us on our trip was the sheer amount of olive oil consumed, every single Spanish day. 

We are talking about a drenching amount- the word copious seems scant to capture the amount.  How much? I tried to cook a handful of Spanish dishes our first week home and managed to go through an ENTIRE BOTTLE OF OLIVE OIL! 

This dish carried a cup of olive oil.

This soup? A quarter pint! The mushrooms in the center? 1/3 of a pint!

How should it taste? Fruity. Smooth. Not too bitter and not too spicy. It should have the aroma of an olive grove. Spicy? Turns out great olive oil should 'awaken' the tongue but not burn it.

We stopped by an olive producer, Senorio Vizcantar to taste and learn from Don Fermin; his family has tended olive groves for three generations. It was other-worldly to hear him speak about olive oil- how to judge a good one remains seared on our taste buds.

 It was like being in the presence of a master who knew he was simply this generation's spokesman. His family-owned small holding fights on by diversifying into olive oil hand creams (amazing!) and olive paste and jam and producing olive oils that are globally recognized as outstanding.



Fermin is passionate about olive oil. It is contagious. He gives classes on olive oil 'appreciation' atop this 1,000 year trunk.

A 1,000 year old trunk supports a wall of Vizcantar oils.

The small white-washed village of Almedenilla boasts a bull ring with the endless rows of olive trees radiating out from every direction.

We've decided to import a palette of Don Fermin's olive oil tins. We don't know where it will end up. We only know that we're trying hard to keep elements of the trip alive here at home and if olive oil isn't in the picture we haven't a thing. We're continuing making Paella on Sunday so just to keep that tradition alive we had to see this through!

J said this morning, "I miss the food so much". We all do.

Patio Andaluz in La Zubia

Basic needs take on a special place when you're on the road: access to hot water, a bed, a place to hang your laundry (which you've likely done in the sink by hand-- yes, the kids are in charge of their own) but most of all, access to good food.

Combine an incredibly friendly waiter, bread and food that is out of this world and you have Patio Andaluz, a place we ate EVERY SINGLE DAY because it was like coming home. There was no menu, there were no prices, just long, long tables crammed with people getting the 'dishes of the week.'

This is what Isabel had to say, "it's really good. The staff was friendly, helpful and funny." It was a bit like eating at your grandmother's if she happen to be an excellent cook with ample ingredients. Patio Andaluz was in La Zubia, the small village outside of Granada near the national park of the Sierra Nevadas and our sheep pen hotel.

We miss it. Each day we'd go to pay and our waiter Paco would say with a wave of his hand, 'The same as yesterday.' It didn't matter if we'd added an extra beer or two cups of coffee or doubled our dessert intake. Each day, the grin was the same and the price a complete mystery. We just kept adding a bigger tip! The last day as we were paying a glass shattered by the bar, Paco waved it off with a grin and said, 'Well, we won't have to wash that one again!' As we asked the price of our meal that last day he grinned and said, "I only make up a bill once a month- no me complico la vida, "why complicate my life?" That spirit has prevailed throughout Andalucia.

There is a perceptible lack of tension in peoples' faces, their driving, their way of interacting. The old Greek concept of otium or, "peace above wealth and power" or even more memorable= "leisure with dignity" is the driving flavor----

pictures to follow-- running off to hike to a Moorish tower we'll get the pictures up as soon as we get back

What seems to be the biggest force is that of gathering as a family. The norm is seeing multi-generational groups. We ran into this group celebrating this gentleman's birthday: the twinkle in his eye is one we've seen in many elderly here. I've seen more elderly people in a week and a half than I've seen in 4 years back at the ranch.

By groups I mean over 20 people. I laughed every time we ate at Patio Andaluz because Paco had a miniature notepad (if he decided to take notes at all) and would manage tables of 20+ effortlessly-- a far cry from the computerized waiting system that is familiar in the States. Paco was the picture of Zen: calm, an impish grin never far from the corners of his mouth and a terse, funny Koan of an answer to everything. If we'd ask about a dish he'd shrug his shoulders and disappear and reappear sliding a plate of the dish in question across our table-- he'd say, 'try it.' Once I was hung up with Baby-O and he came over and said, "Don't you like your dish?" He made movement as if to take it away and said, "I'll bring you something else."  In short, Paco is a complete delight of a human being.