Discovering the exuberance of fine olive oil is a travesty that I will hold Johnny Madge accountable for. There is no going back.
Just like fine wine, sometimes it is easier (and definitely much cheaper) not to know the difference. To slurp one’s way along life blissfully unaware of how the other half live. In the eloquent words of Sideways character Jack Cole, “I dunno … tastes good to me!”
Except it doesn’t.
After spending time with Mr. Madge, average supermarket olive oil tastes like awful, rancid, over processed ‘how can you call that extra virgin’ just plain old yucky oil. Or at least to me it does – this is my sentence from now own. Thank you Mr. Madge.
Johnny Madge is an Englishman living in Casperia, an hour’s train ride outside of the metropolis of Rome (read: My first time in Rome). He meets me at the station, dressed in a wool sweater (I did say he is English!?) and drives me into the countryside in his VW bus. Suddenly I go from being a tourist in a foreign country to wheeling around the colourful hillsides of Rome with a friend. We don’t know one another, but it feels that way. Perhaps, it is the commonality between us – I want to know about olive oil, and Johnny has spent his entire life learning all about it, and sharing that knowledge.
He is a professional olive oil ‘taster’ and owns his own wine bar, where oil is always available for the tasting. After-hours he plays in a band, bringing the villagers together, and in ‘another life’ he studied marble sculpture. He also runs olive oil tasting tours like the one I am describing, and is highly recommended on TripAdvisor. He’s interesting, in an olive pip.
Photo by donireewalker
We pull up to a country restaurant overlooking the sloping hills around Casperia which are dotted with sheep as a blanket of mist is rising from the valley through the rays of sunshine. In the garden around us men of all ages stand on ladders, nets spread on the ground below, combing the trees with a miniature rake in search of their olive fruit. It is harvest season, and the very best time of my life to be tasting the freshest, most peppery green and alive olive oil my taste buds have ever had the pleasure of enjoying! Who knew such flavours were possible!?
The smoke of a nearby fire drifts our way. It is chilly and the embers are glowing, christening bruschetta with the hot cross of the grill. Little cups of oil line the table and we waste no time getting stuck in. A yellow oil, a lighter green, and a rich dark green. Johnny educates me in the art of olive oil tasting. Much like wine – note the colour, inhale the aromas, slurp (yes, slurp the oil he urges) and let your breathe float over your oil drenched tongue, bringing all the flavours and even more of the aroma alive.
The yellow? Supermarket trash. Simply for comparison.
The green is the gold standard at this party. The greener the fresher, the most pure, the just freshly raked from a tree and practically pressed into my mouth. Pepper so pungent it brings tears to my eyes. Earth spice, that is. Organic delight… forget about shooting wheatgrass, try some of this godsend.
We enjoy a home cooked meal by the mother and daughters running this restaurant in the hills, and we enjoy their family’s own olive oil and table wine. Courses and courses, the views and the food. We’re so full we have to waddle out to the bus en route for one last treat before the train to Rome – a stop at a farm where Johnny seems to know just about everyone, to see olives being freshly pressed.
An old yet efficient farm, there are no frills here. The dogs bark at our arrival, we trample along the dirt road to see the olives that have just been delivered, now bumping down the line of mesh track on their way to the presser. On the other side? Green gold liquid flow into the pot, soon to be purified and enjoyed. The smell is all encompassing, a rich delight of fresh organic life. The sun is setting on the hillsides as we make our way to the train station, where we bid farewell to one another, to the day, and to my old way of thinking. Olive oil will never be the same.
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