makes 4 to 6 meze servings
During the height of the first financial crisis in Greece, Greeks used to say, not altogether in jest, that “at least we have olives.” Olives, one of nature’s greatest superfoods, have always been an integral part of the Greek table. Ironically, with the exception of breads and sauces to which olives might be added, there are very few traditional Greek recipes calling for olives. Mostly, olives are just there, ever present on the table during every meal of the day. They are also the country’s number one agricultural export.
This recipe is one of the few in which olives are featured prominently. Pan-fried or pan-grilled olives are a popular quick meze in many parts of Greece where table olives are cultivated.
Of all the table olive varieties in Greece, the ones called “raisin olives,” which mature on the tree until they are wrinkled but still retain their meaty texture, are best for this dish. Wrinkled black olives are generally less salty than brined olives, and the oiliness inherent in their flesh makes them most suitable for sautéing.
½ small orange, preferably organic
2 tablespoons extra-virgin Greek olive oil
2 cups (310 g) wrinkled black Greek olives, preferably either Thassos or Halkidiki
1 large garlic clove, cut into very thin slivers
Scant 1 teaspoon dried Greek oregano, or 2 teaspoons chopped fresh oregano leaves
Keep the peel on the orange and cut the orange into 3 wedges. Cut each wedge into small triangular slices, about ⅛ inch (3 mm) thick.
In a heavy skillet or stovetop grill pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the olives and orange wedges to the pan and shake the pan back and forth to combine them. Stir in the garlic. Continue to shake the pan back and forth or gently stir for about 5 minutes, until the olives are warmed through, the garlic is soft and shiny, and the orange slices are slightly wilted. Stir in the oregano and transfer to a bowl. Serve.
The world’s most famous olive is a bit of a misnomer. The kalamata olive, that purplish-brownish-black olive with the smooth, taut skin and the almond shape, the one that punctuates Greek salads the world over, is named not for the region it comes from but the port from which most were once shipped. The vast majority of Greece’s annual production is actually produced in another part of the Peloponnese, Laconia, especially in the region around Sparta. Kalamata olives are produced in other parts of Greece as well, with a large harvest in the area around Agrinio, in Western Mainland Greece.
The best kalamata olives, indeed the best olives of any variety, are what the Greeks call kserikes or “dry,” as in watered only by natural rainfall. When there is a drought, conditions can be severe enough to cause the loss of up to 70 percent of olive production. Such are the olives produced by Manousos and Manolis Manousakis on their gently sprawling estate in Selasia, a few kilometers outside Sparta, a town that once acted as gatekeeper for the ancient warrior city-state.
Harvesting olives is one of the most arduous yet therapeutic acts. There is a rhythm to it, honed over generations. Constant movement as you move up and down the trees, bending, stretching to reach the highest branches, protects against the chill of November and December days in the Laconian mountains. The winter sun is sweet. No one harvests in the rain.
To start, the women in the family prep and trail, laying green tarpaulin nets on the ground beneath the trees to cover the area under the leaf sprawl so that as many olives as possible can be collected. The men do the more demanding physical labor, first rattling the branches with a kind of giant vibrating pole, shaking down the olives, which fall onto those nets. Any errant fruit left on the branches is raked down by hand with a special wide, comb-like tool. There are about 250 olives to a kilogram. At this writing, a kilogram wholesales for 2 euro, so losing even a few, whether squashed underfoot or rolled downhill, means losing precious income.
The harvest always happens in the fall, sometime between October and December, when the fruit has turned from green to bluish black. Each tree at least ten years old produces about 10 kilograms (22 pounds) of olives. The variety of olive sizes on a given tree is mind-boggling, but these are sorted through later on, either by hand or mechanically.
Once a tree has been harvested, the women get back into action, picking up the edges of the nets, rolling the olives into the middle to collect them into crates. Then they roll up the nets and spread them under the next few trees in line for harvesting.
From the tree, the crates of olives go directly to a nearby processing plant where a series of machines simulate the home curing, or fermentation, process, slitting and then soaking them in a salt brine, where they sit for about three weeks before being transferred to a vinegar-salt solution for a few days. Once sufficiently fermented and brined—the extent of which is a matter of personal taste when done at home and commercial profile when done at a processing plant—the olives are packed and shipped to the four corners of the globe. Of course some stay local, in which case the region’s home cooks are more likely to put them up in olive oil, which is ample in this part of Greece, and which softens their sharp flavor over time.
Everywhere one looks in Laconia, there is almost nothing else but olive trees and mountains. But despite the ubiquity of the olive tree and the importance of its famed fruit in the local economy, it is oddly absent from the kitchen. “We just serve them as they are for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They are always on the table,” Maria Stefanopoulou told me. She is the caretaker on Manoli’s land, and I had the pleasure of watching and learning as her nimble hands slit basin after basin of olives: three slits for the large ones, two for the medium, and one for the smallest. She moved fast and rhythmically with an easy agility she jokingly said was from the three generations of olive growers in her DNA. She may not have been far from the truth. Olives, an ancient superfood, are a great source of anti-inflammatories, which help keep us nimble like Maria.
