ms. bing
09-18-2003, 12:40 AM
for some reason lately i've been in love with this stuff.
http://lexus.msn.com/
A Tale of Two Olive Oils
Two farm families—one in Spain and one in Tunisia—have been making premium olive oil the same way for centuries.
By Jean Tang
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The smell of olives in my local supermarket is detectable long before the olives themselves—a dozen mounds of wrinkled black, plump green, and stuffed varieties—come into view. In the olive oil section, the choices—an Aladdin-esque menagerie of bottles and tins—are similarly astounding. The New World has fallen madly in love with the olive, that tiny Old World building block. Exports from countries such as Spain and Italy have skyrocketed, but that isn't changing the way olives and olive oil are produced. We compare two farm families, each with a centuries-old legacy.
It took 200 years, but the name Nuñez de Prado is finally where it belongs: at the pinnacle of a list of the world's premium olive oils. Nuñez de Prado Flor del Aceite—the aptly named "flower of the oil"—is even purer than the extra-virgin oil derived from the "first cold press" of other labels. The plump, ripe olives are crushed between granite stones, and the resulting paste is laid over a screen and allowed to drip. What gets bottled—along with tiny clouds of fresh, unfiltered olive—is only what gravity manages to slowly and gently coax away.
In the tiny Spanish town of Baena, the Nuñez de Prado family has been growing olives since 1795. Now in their seventh generation of oil production, they remain farmers, rising early to check the crop, working through the winter harvest, and joyfully tasting the finished result.
Making the Flor del Aceite is hard work. Whereas it normally takes 5 kilos of olives to get 1 liter of oil, it takes 12 kilos to get 1 liter of the Flor. But the results are worth the added effort. In the words of Francisco Nuñez de Prado, head of the clan, "We're looking for the perfect balance between fruit and spice. Therefore we use three different olives. Piqudo imparts a floral aroma, piquale gives stability to the oil, and orjiblanca—which means 'leaves of white'—adds sweetness."
The resulting oil is a thick, rich amber liquid redolent of oranges and crushed pepper, and best consumed raw. Some methods: Use as a plain dressing on organic lettuce (no vinegar necessary), drizzle on roasted vegetables, or swirl over the surface of steaming hot soup. Says Taylor Griffin, president of specialty retailer Rogers International (207-828-2000; http://www.rogersintl.com/), "I use it to finish just about everything I cook. Oftentimes I'll drizzle some of the oil lightly on top of pasta, even if there's a sauce to go with it."
Spain may be the world's largest producer of olive oil, but olives also thrive in the similarly hot, dry reaches of North Africa. Often, African product is shipped to countries with more established marketing and distribution channels—Italy, for example—and the bottles are labeled as if the oil had originated there. But in Tunisia, one farming family has made a name for itself away from the pack: the Mahjoubs.
There are some basic parallels between the Mahjoubs and the Nuñez de Prados. Like Francisco, Majib Mahjoub is the oldest brother of four in a long tradition (six generations) of production. His oil—called Moulins Mahjoub—is less well known to connoisseurs, yet the family is no less passionate about its product.
The Mahjoubs produce their oil in Tebourba, a town in north-central Tunisia that's the site of a 2,000-year-old Carthaginian olive oil mill. The delicate, just-ripe olives are hand picked, stone ground, and then pressed on ancient gear presses driven by leather belts. But viva la différence: Whereas the resulting oil is usually mechanically separated from the water of the olive, the Moulins Mahjoub is laboriously hand-skimmed. The result? Picture olives as steak and the oil as a marbled slab grilled rare.
http://lexus.msn.com/
A Tale of Two Olive Oils
Two farm families—one in Spain and one in Tunisia—have been making premium olive oil the same way for centuries.
By Jean Tang
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The smell of olives in my local supermarket is detectable long before the olives themselves—a dozen mounds of wrinkled black, plump green, and stuffed varieties—come into view. In the olive oil section, the choices—an Aladdin-esque menagerie of bottles and tins—are similarly astounding. The New World has fallen madly in love with the olive, that tiny Old World building block. Exports from countries such as Spain and Italy have skyrocketed, but that isn't changing the way olives and olive oil are produced. We compare two farm families, each with a centuries-old legacy.
It took 200 years, but the name Nuñez de Prado is finally where it belongs: at the pinnacle of a list of the world's premium olive oils. Nuñez de Prado Flor del Aceite—the aptly named "flower of the oil"—is even purer than the extra-virgin oil derived from the "first cold press" of other labels. The plump, ripe olives are crushed between granite stones, and the resulting paste is laid over a screen and allowed to drip. What gets bottled—along with tiny clouds of fresh, unfiltered olive—is only what gravity manages to slowly and gently coax away.
In the tiny Spanish town of Baena, the Nuñez de Prado family has been growing olives since 1795. Now in their seventh generation of oil production, they remain farmers, rising early to check the crop, working through the winter harvest, and joyfully tasting the finished result.
Making the Flor del Aceite is hard work. Whereas it normally takes 5 kilos of olives to get 1 liter of oil, it takes 12 kilos to get 1 liter of the Flor. But the results are worth the added effort. In the words of Francisco Nuñez de Prado, head of the clan, "We're looking for the perfect balance between fruit and spice. Therefore we use three different olives. Piqudo imparts a floral aroma, piquale gives stability to the oil, and orjiblanca—which means 'leaves of white'—adds sweetness."
The resulting oil is a thick, rich amber liquid redolent of oranges and crushed pepper, and best consumed raw. Some methods: Use as a plain dressing on organic lettuce (no vinegar necessary), drizzle on roasted vegetables, or swirl over the surface of steaming hot soup. Says Taylor Griffin, president of specialty retailer Rogers International (207-828-2000; http://www.rogersintl.com/), "I use it to finish just about everything I cook. Oftentimes I'll drizzle some of the oil lightly on top of pasta, even if there's a sauce to go with it."
Spain may be the world's largest producer of olive oil, but olives also thrive in the similarly hot, dry reaches of North Africa. Often, African product is shipped to countries with more established marketing and distribution channels—Italy, for example—and the bottles are labeled as if the oil had originated there. But in Tunisia, one farming family has made a name for itself away from the pack: the Mahjoubs.
There are some basic parallels between the Mahjoubs and the Nuñez de Prados. Like Francisco, Majib Mahjoub is the oldest brother of four in a long tradition (six generations) of production. His oil—called Moulins Mahjoub—is less well known to connoisseurs, yet the family is no less passionate about its product.
The Mahjoubs produce their oil in Tebourba, a town in north-central Tunisia that's the site of a 2,000-year-old Carthaginian olive oil mill. The delicate, just-ripe olives are hand picked, stone ground, and then pressed on ancient gear presses driven by leather belts. But viva la différence: Whereas the resulting oil is usually mechanically separated from the water of the olive, the Moulins Mahjoub is laboriously hand-skimmed. The result? Picture olives as steak and the oil as a marbled slab grilled rare.