I had a brief affair with them in the mid-nineties, but since then it’s been mostly animosity.
What happened was boyfriend’s Mexican sister-in-law had us over for dinner. She was serving spaghetti, and she called it “puttanesca”; I assumed this was Spanish for “red sauce over noodles.” Yes, there were little green and black floaters, but who am I to judge?
A couple years later, I was shopping for spaghetti at Schnucks and one of the jars was labeled “puttanesca.” I thought: “Hm! There’s that Mexican spaghetti sauce again!” and took it home. I was horrified to discover that the black and green floaters were this time in the shape of olives. And in fact, they were olives. And in fact in fact, it tasted like a$$.
So that was the end of our relationship, and I thought, no need to look back with nostalgia.Until I became a vegetarian foodie.I encountered olives again after years of living olive-free at my first Gourmet Dinner Club. The host had called for “tapenade,” which I thought meant, “bread spread,” and paired it with dry martinis. The olives in the martinis sufficed to distract me from the olive chunks in the spread for a few bites. And actually, the saltiness was pretty darn good. Yes, that flava was sharp, but it was significantly dulled after a few sips of straight gin.
Excited by my foray into the world of gourmet, I elected to serve “tapenade” at my parents’ dinner party. I was horrified to discover that the recipe—the very same recipe—called for not only olives but also anchovies! EEEeeeegads!! Nevertheless, I persevered and made it, convinced that it had tasted amazing and that it would the guests’ and my own socks off. Well, without the 2oz of gin to back it up, this bread spread sucked.
I renewed my commitment to live olive-free.Until my interests in gourmet cooking, ethnic food, and vegetarianism blossomed, and I realized I’m going to have to learn to love those little suckers.
Here’s why:
1. all foodies and gourmets and gourmands eat them
2. they are a vegetable, and therefore, they should be part of my diet
3. I will go to Greece someday
4. one of my favorite cookbooks is called The Olive and the Caper
So, needless to say, with all of this pressure to learn to love olives, I’ve been making an effort to reconcile. About a year ago, one of my favorite Greek salads started coming with black olives. My friend told me that black olives are the gateway olive, so I started there. Rather than scraping them off to the side, I scraped only most of them off to the side, and accidentally ate a few when they got stuck on the fork, and then pretended not to notice. This went on for a good long while.Then I got very bold and began including them on my pizzas. Here’s how it goes:
-crust
-pesto
-bellas sautéed in balsamic
-artichoke hearts
-tomatoes
-sundried tomatoes
-feta cheese
-and…. duh duh duh….. black olives! The little sliced kind that come in a can.
Not bad! The truth is, if you choose to eat them, they are somewhat less offensive. I guess it’s the idea that they are being forced on you or slipped into your meal that makes them feel so sneaky.
With this in mind, I voluntarily attempted a real, solid, whole, green olive in NYC when enjoying a lovely cheese plate. My pals were digging into them with great gusto, so I asked them to point me towards the least offensive, and so began my journey of recovery from being olive-phobic.
I have to say, it was really gross. That little slimy ball was so salty it made my nose hurt; and also, what’s with the texture? It’s practically meaty, and I DON’T EAT MEAT!!!!
So I’m no better than I was before: I hate olives, I hate people who love them, and I hate the country of Greece. But I’m working on it, and someday, maybe not soon, but someday, I’ll feel the little fluttering in my stomach when an olive walks by and the rest will be history.
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