Pressing matters
On Saturday morning we had a phone call from a friend, inviting us to join their olive-picking syndicate. You might recall that, for the mill to operate their machinery, a minimum quantity of 550 kilos is required. As it´s better to get the olives to the mill freshly picked rather than after they´ve been stored for several weeks, lots of people join forces, last but not least to share the actual cost of using the mill (€90 + VAT).
It was a glorious day and rain was forecast for the week ahead so we agreed to don our olive-picking gear and throw ourselves at the trees, rather than visiting a nearby town to buy newspapers, magazines and books as we had planned. Our neighbours had kindly allowed us to attack their trees, as ´ours` weren´t much cop really, having received little or no care over the past years. Well-tended trees make all the difference and so the kilos soon started piling up quite effortlessly. We both enjoyed working in the great outdoors and the thought of not simply flogging off the olives we had picked but getting our own organic extra virgin olive oil instead, spurred us on even more.
After two days of picking, we had filled every spare crate we had available and, having briefly (but not really seriously) flirted with the idea of using our suitcases in which to store and transport the olives, we eventually borrowed some more crates from a friend. We worked out that we had picked around 150 kilos and called it a day, deciding that we´d get more than enough oil to cater for our yearly consumption.
Tuesday at 1pm was our slot at the mill and we all gathered there in good time to unload the crates, put them on the scales and then heave the contents into a big container (well, the guys did – I can´t really lift crates that weigh around 30 kilos each). We ended up with a total of just over 1000 kg to which Ian and I had contributed 166 kg. Not bad.
I soon showed myself to be a total olive mill novice, running around the place camera in hand, taking photographs of the various stages of production. The olives were dumped into a hole in the ground and ended up on a conveyor belt which took them to a big chamber where all the twigs and leaves were blown out. I´d spent quite some time picking them out by hand which, of course, now proved a total waste of time. Never mind, I´ll know not to bother next time. Subsequently, the olives were washed before they went into the crusher. There were no real health and safety restrictions in place, so we were at liberty to poke our noses in here, there and everywhere and to open the little stainless steel inspection doors of the crusher to see the thick olive paste inside.
After the novelty had eventually worn off (there is only so much olive pulp you can look at and it was quite noisy in the factory), we went into the adjacent shop, where we sat down at a table and helped ourselves to the proffered drinks (liquors and brandy). The two main organizers of the syndicate then got their calculators out and started working out how much each person had to pay as well as how much oil they were entitled to (a rather more complex procedure than the actual olive oil production).
After about two hours, which flew by, as we were drinking liquors and coffee, chatting, making new acquaintances and playing with two gorgeous puppies, the big moment had arrived: we were called into the factory where the oil soon started flowing into a metal basin. We opened the tap and started filling our big plastic containers. Of course, we all held our little fingers under the tap to sample our liquid gold. Yummy – the finest oil I have ever tasted! Spirits were high and remained so, even when after just over 100 litres, the flow turned to a mere trickle and then stopped altogether. We had expected about 150 litres. Oops! The professional oil barons amongst us scratched their heads, more than a little perplexed: ”We´ve never had such a low output before.” An explanation followed: “Ah well, it is still quite early in the year to harvest olives and we´ve had a fair bit of rain lately, so the olives have soaked up a lot of water which means they weigh a lot but yield proportionately little oil.” I see.
We drove to the main olive pickers´ finca where we re-calculated everybody´s share (we had based our previous calculations on a 15% yield instead of the actual 10%). Finally, the plastic drums were filled - a bit of a palaver but we got there in the end - and we went home with 16 litres of our very own extra virgin olive oil in the back of the car. We had to leave the container open for a day, so the oil could cool down and now it needs to be left standing for about a fortnight, so the sediment can settle at the bottom of the container, leaving a clear oil for our use.
Should you be visiting us over the next year or so, you can be sure you will be tasting our oil in salads as well as in cooked meals. I wonder just how often we´ll say: “We picked the olives for this oil, you know?”
¡Que aproveche!
Olive Oil and Popeye
166 kg of olives.
Over 1000 kg of olives is causing the fork lift truck to get stuck on the ramp. HELP!
In you go you beauties. See you later as olive oil :)
Here it is at last - our liquid gold
Tadam!!! Here we have: 16 litres of our very own extra virgin olive oil. Fab :)