Ever wondered why we refer to olive oil as “virgin”? Specifically, extra-virgin? Surely it has nothing to do with the super-chastity of olive trees. While the meaning of “virgin” might be quite different when we’re talking about olives than when we’re alluding to the Madonna, extra-virgin olive oil is (arguably) equally as sacred in Italian society as the Blessed Virgin herself.
After living in Tuscany for more than thirteen years, the writer of this blog can attest to the fact that olive oil is more than just a fundamental of Italian cooking; it is a revered product of the earth. And it’s ubiquitous. All Italians use olive oil. If you go into the kitchen of any home in Italy, you will invariably find extra-virgin olive oil, and usually in two qualities: one for cooking, and one per condire — to dress salads and drizzle on your food at the table.
Italians are intensely proud of their olive oil, and a healthy rivalry exists between the most famous regions — Tuscany, Umbria, Puglia, and Sicily — who all think theirs is the best. But frankly, when you get to this Olympic level of liquid gold, “best” is a matter of a highly subjective fine line.
The olive harvest is about to begin in most places in Italy, ushering in autumn with traditions and excitement about the olio nuovo — new oil — that is both a culinary and social event across the country. If you fancy visiting Italy during the olive harvest, November is the principal month in central Italy (Tuscany, Umbria, Lazio). In Sicily and other regions further south, such as Puglia and Calabria, the harvest will take place earlier, usually from the middle to the end of October.
Read on for a brief recounting of olive oil’s long history that goes back to ancient times, along with an explanation of what “extra-virgin” means, plus a personal recollection of the beautiful Italian traditions surrounding the olive harvest.
Olive Oil’s Long History: A Brief Recounting
The presence of olive oil in world history has been recorded as far back as 4000 BCE. In Armenia, Palestine, and some parts of Asia, it was used for medicinal purposes or as fuel for oil lamps in very ancient times. Later, the Babylonians and Greeks established a thriving olive oil trade throughout the Mediterranean.
The Greeks have a unique connection to the olive tree, and in a couple of noteworthy ways. It is widely believed that the Ancient Greeks were the first to cultivate olives and press their oil. But the olive tree also holds a special place in Greek mythology.
In the epic tale of the founding of Athens, the gods Poseidon and Athena were battling to become the city’s patron in a competition staged by Zeus, ruler of all the gods. Whoever presented the best gift would be bestowed this divine honour. Poseidon struck his trident on a rock, which gave rise to a spring. Athena called forth an olive tree, delicate and beautiful with its slender, silvery leaves, and full of promise with its abundance of fruit. Zeus pronounced Athena the winner, and the olive tree took its place as a symbol of peace, friendship, wisdom, and bounty in Greek culture.
Besides its culinary importance, olive oil also had sacred and practical uses in Ancient Greece. Olympic athletes were anointed with olive oil before competing, and they were awarded olive branches after winning. In addition to being an important commodity in the foreign commerce of antiquity, olive oil was used as a form of currency in Ancient Greek society.
While the Greeks may have been the first to cultivate olive trees, it was the Romans who were responsible for spreading their cultivation throughout the Empire and for introducing the first differentiations in the pressing of olive oil. During the Renaissance, the production and trade of olive oil experienced a new period of splendour, especially in Italy, which remains one of the largest and most distinguished producers and exporters of extra-virgin olive oil in the world.
Extra-Virgin: What It Means
When it comes to olive oil, the term “extra-virgin” refers to a very specific set of parameters. These requirements for production and quality are set by the Olive Oil Council, a UN-chartered council established in 1959 that now has twenty member countries plus the EU, representing 98% of the world’s olive oil production.
Only the first pressing of the olives can be called extra-virgin. (Olives can be subsequently pressed to produce oil of lesser quality.) The pressing must be done by mechanical means; no heat or solvents can be involved. This procedure must also ensure that the temperature of the organic material during grinding does not rise above 27 degrees Celsius; this is why extra-virgin oil is called “cold-pressed”.
The reason for cold-pressing is that heat destroys the organoleptic (sensory) qualities of the oil; keeping the temperature under control during pressing ensures that the taste, smell, colour, and feel will not be diminished. The practice of cold pressing goes back to antiquity. Clearly, the ancients understood the benefits of careful pressing before any modern biology book was ever written.
To qualify as extra-virgin, the level of acidity in the oil must be 0.8% or less. The lower the acidity, the higher the quality of the oil. Freshly-pressed extra-virgin olive oil has a distinctive colour: a particular gold-green, luminous in its intensity.
The health benefits of olio EVO (an acronym you will frequently see on labels in Italy) are equally as lustrous. Olive oil is a monounsaturated fat. This type of lipid helps reduce bad cholesterol as it bolsters heart health. Extra-virgin oil is also high in polyphenols, which have antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties that protect our cells from damage. Polyphenols may also help regulate blood sugar as well as render gut flora more robust.
Working the Magic: How We Get Extra-Virgin Oil Out of Olives
In Italy, the work of pressing olives into oil is done at a frantoio — an olive oil mill. These mills are everywhere in Italy, ranging in size from huge commercial facilities to small operations for local communities. Even the tiniest Italian borgo (village) has access to a frantoio, because an astounding number of Italians still own a little olive orchard with enough trees to furnish oil for their family. Frequently, these plots of land have been passed down from one generation to the next for many centuries. (Sicily is particularly renowned for this.)
After being harvested, which is carefully done at just the right moment, the crates of olives are taken to the frantoio where they are washed and freed of stems and leaves. Then they are ground, producing a paste from which the precious golden-green oil will ultimately be separated. Many modern mills still grind olives using millstones (giant discs of stone that literally weigh a ton — or more).
For a good look at the whole process in about four minutes, watch this excellent video by National Geographic.
Picnic in the Grove: Traditions Around the Olive Harvest
There are a number of ways in which to harvest olives, ranging from industrial-level machines that shake the trees to the old-fashioned method of raccolta a mano — hand-picking. The traditions around hand-picking olives are still alive and well in Italy.
One of my fondest memories of my early days in Italy centers around the olive harvest. My dear friends, the Nencioni family, invited me to join them for the harvest in their little grove of about 120 olive trees in Vada, a village on the sea in Tuscany. It was November and the weather was cool, the rays of the sun delicately warm, the light slanting in that winsome way that says “Winter is coming soon.”
When I arrived, nets were spread out under a number of trees, and well-worn ladders were leaned up against some of the trunks. After being welcomed with a kiss on each cheek by my hosts (all fashionably dressed despite the manual labor to be done), I jumped into the task before us with both feet, choosing to climb a tree and sit amongst the swollen branches for a full sensory experience as I plucked the fruit and let it fall onto the net below, where it formed a carpet of colour in hues from vibrant green to deep purple.
The hours passed in a convivial glow of sunlight and chatter. At that time, the Italian language was a mysterious stream of sounds to me, with the occasional blip of a familiar word breaking free from the bonds of its linguistic chains. I understood little but it was clear from the lively cadence and abundant laughter that a lot of joking was going on (the Nencioni’s are a typical Tuscan family that loves to kid around).
When it was time to break for lunch, we all gathered around a table set up in the campo — the field. This is the heart of the memory for me; all of us sitting around in the open air, eating and talking, the rows of tranquil trees around us like a feathery green frame. Believe it or not, I don’t remember what we ate (I am digging back more than fifteen years to recuperate this memory), but for once that doesn’t matter. What is important about those moments (and the reason the memory lingers so vividly) is the sensation of being part of a tribe, part of a tradition, part of an event so integral to the culture in which I found myself but virtually unknown in my own. Even though I was a foreigner, I was welcomed into a story that has been evolving since antiquity, and I was included in its propagation.
When people ask me why I moved to Italy back in 2009, I say, “For the food!” While this response typically draws laughter, it is nonetheless true. But there is something truly profound in my seemingly flippant statement, which is the thing that underscores the food, and that is the millennia of history and tradition that a person still senses when they gather around the table in Italy. When we sit down together to eat in Italy, all of time past seems to be collectively present in that instant. Then, as we enjoy the food and each other, as we appreciate the gifts of the earth, as we acknowledge the talents of the hands that prepared the meal, another dollop of emotion is added to the pot and the story keeps on bubbling, richer than before.
This is what I love most about Italy and what I miss most every time I have to leave; the sensation of being part of a beautiful continuum of culture that touches both body and soul in ways that have utterly transformed my life.
To get a glimpse of what a picnic in the olive grove is like, take a peek at this promo video for Oscar Frantoio in Lazio, south of Rome.
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