FRUIT OF THE FRIARS

IN THE LATE 1700S, ON THE TRAIL THAT LEADS from one California mission to another, followers of Father Junipero Serra planted olive trees not only for culinary reasons but to recall their Spanish homeland. Today the silvery trees grace many gardens, and California produces great quantities of the bland, highly processed black olives that children have long loved to brandish on the ends of their fingers. Oddly, while Californians have a clear affection for the olive, they have only recently begun experiencing the depth of flavor that the fruit can offer, a complexity that moved Lawrence Durrell to write of a “taste older than meat, older than wine. A taste as old as cold water.”

I, too, had a limited notion of olives until one day on the northern Aegean island of Chios I came across a homely, straw colored olive that had been home-cured in a tiny mountain village. My passion for its astonishing flavor led me to an olive importer who opened up a whole new vista of naturally fermented, unpasteurized olives. Olives that are canned or bottled have often undergone high-temperature pasteurization and other chemical treatments that rob them of their distinctiveness. But unpasteurized olives are true to their Mediterranean roots, with a wilder, more complex flavor. Sounding like a winemaker, the importer spoke of olives in terms of varietals and terroir and the vagaries of fermentation, as well as in evocative adjectives of taste: minerally, mushroomy, winey, grassy, prunelike.

Traditionally cured olives are finally coming into their own in Southern California, with many varieties available at specialty markets such as Whole Foods, where they are displayed loosely piled into crocks. But these olives are largely from Europe and North Africa; home-curing here is a rarity. So I was delighted to stumble on a small group of friends in Santa Barbara County who for decades have been harvesting the local olives and curing them the time-honored way. One, 79-year-old Ozzie Da Ros, learned the art from his Italian forebears. Another, J.J. Hollister, comes from one of California’s oldest families, and olives were just one of many resources, such as beekeeping and making wine from local grapes, that the ranchers around Santa Barbara took advantage of when he was a boy.

Every winter the friends harvest about 20 gallons of olives on Hollister’s ranch, Arroyo Hondo, about 30 miles north of Santa Barbara. Many of the trees from which they pick were planted by the Spanish missionaries. The men painstakingly sort green olives from the ripe, then cure them in salt or a mild lye solution to remove their astonishing bitterness and unlock the intense, resonant flavor of home-cured olives, a process that can take a few days to several weeks to complete. “Our original motivation,” says Hollister, “was simply to be able to have good olives at a time, years ago, when none were available.” But the experience brought other pleasures. “I love being in the quiet groves, picking olives from the extraordinary ‘Padre’ tree, some 4 feet around and, at 150 years old, witness to so much local history,” says Da Ros.

When I met up again with my olive guide from Greece, Phil Meldrum of Food Match Inc., we decided to stage an olive tasting for ourselves: 40 varieties from six countries and all levels of ripeness, from green to beige to pink to purplish brown, arranged side-by-side in little bowls. We proceeded as though we were tasting wines, cleansing our palates with mineral water and bread as we moved from the sublime to the ordinary to the inedible, each the product of many complex interactions: soil, climate and the artfulness of the curing process. He told me stories of intrigue and deception, of olives that were dyed to look greener or blacker, and inferior olives from one country that were sold as top olives from another. One such counterfeit olive from Spain looked exactly like the tiny French Nicoise, of which there is limited production.

As I listened to his descriptions of passionate growers, harvest rituals and the ancient lands from which they came, I was spellbound by the vibrant culture that surrounds the olive, the same culture that Ozzie Da Ros and J.J. Hollister fell in love with here. Now I seek out olives wherever I wander, never knowing when one will prove to be a revelation, as it was on that Greek island. Recently at the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market, I discovered a wrinkly, oil-cured olive from Adams’ Ranch in Strathmore. It was like some small, exotic dried plum, pleasingly bitter, with a faint flavor of cherries and herbs. A hopeful sign.

Olive Hors D’Oeuvres

Olives are the perfect hors d’oeuvres, their flavors going well with wine or cocktails. They are delicious and sustaining yet stimulating to the appetite. They have a natural affinity for other simple Mediterranean foods, such as fresh fennel, greens, roasted peppers, tomatoes, feta and other sheep’s milk cheese and, of course, good bread.

I often serve several kinds of olives to make an informal olive tasting--as illuminating as it is delicious and a natural catalyst for conversation. The only caveat is that the olives must be of the best quality. Here’s what to look for when buying olives, and a list of some of my favorites.

Olives are bitter unless cured, which is done traditionally with brine, salt or sometimes lye. The best of the cured olives are unpasteurized, although there are cured pasteurized olives that are quite good. Green olives are noticeably crisper and black olives richer. Exposure to air will cause olives to deteriorate quickly, so when buying, look for bulk olives that are sold in their brine, in which they can last indefinitely. Olives should be plump with few bruises or wrinkles (except for oil-cured olives, which are first cured in salt and are naturally wrinkly). The color of green olives should be bright and clear. Inferior olives are often aggressively flavored with hot pepper, herbs or spices. When possible, ask to taste the olives.

Among the olives to look for: Lucques (southern France), bright green, medium-size, crisp olives with an exceptionally buttery flavor that are best served chilled; Cassees des Baux (southern France), green, subtly perfumed olives with a hint of green almonds and wild fennel; organic Kalamata (Sparta, Greece), purple-black olives with a mushroomy, minerally taste that is briny without being salty; Thasos (Greece), wrinkled black, oil-cured olives with a mellow, sweet, prunelike taste that is more like that of a dried fruit than an olive; Nyons (France), black oil-cured olives with an elegant, refined flavor of raisins and chocolate; Arbequina (Spain), tiny putty-colored olives with a complex, resonant flavor of apples and almonds; Gordal (Greece), large oblong, straw-colored olives with meaty flavor.

Boneless Leg of Lamb Stuffed With Crushed Olives

Salty, herb-infused, crushed black olives rolled into a butterflied leg of lamb season and tenderize the meat, giving it a pleasingly “wild” flavor. If you are in a hurry, you can use 3/4 cup prepared olive paste instead of the olives.

Serves 12

1/4 teaspoon chopped garlic

2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves

3/4 teaspoon chopped fresh rosemary

3/4 teaspoon grated lemon zest

Pinch and 1/2 teaspoon salt

8 ounces ripe, meaty, brine-cured black olives, such as Kalamata, pitted and chopped

1 teaspoon extra-virgin olive oil

1 leg of lamb, boned and butterflied, with the bones

8-10 sprigs thyme and/or rosemary

1/2 cup dry white wine

*

In a mortar, pound together the garlic, thyme, rosemary, lemon zest and a pinch of salt. Gradually add the olives and the olive oil. Pound to a coarse paste. Alternatively, you can combine these ingredients in a food processor.

Spread the lamb skin side down on a work surface with the grain of the meat running from right to left (or parallel to the edge of the counter). Spread the olive paste over the lamb, working it into the seams. Working on a slight diagonal, roll the lamb lengthwise into a uniform sausage shape about 5 inches in diameter. Cut off the small, sinewy flap of skin left at the end. (You can saute it as a snack or light meal.) Tie rolled lamb with cotton string at 1-inch intervals to keep the shape. Cover and refrigerate at least 6 hours or up to 2 days.

Remove the lamb from the refrigerator an hour before roasting to bring it to room temperature. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Place a rack in a shallow roasting pan and arrange the lamb bones on the rack. Place the lamb skin side up on the bones and tuck the sprigs of thyme or rosemary under, around and on top of the lamb. Sprinkle with the remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt. Roast the lamb 10 minutes. Reduce the heat to 350 degrees and pour the wine over the lamb. Roast the lamb 20 minutes, basting it twice with the wine. Reduce the temperature again to 275 degrees and roast half hour longer, basting it two more times, until the lamb reaches an internal temperature of 140 degrees for medium rare.

Transfer the lamb to a carving board and allow to rest 10-15 minutes. Pour any juices into a cup to allow the fat to float to the surface. Skim off the fat and discard. To serve, slice the lamb crosswise into half-inch-thick slices and pour juices over meat.

Warm Olivada

I devised this coarse olive paste as a way of using up several kinds of olives that were a little past their prime. When heated, the flavor of the olives become more complex and aromatic. I use this versatile olivada as a topping for coarse peasant bread, pizzas and focaccias, as a sauce for pasta and even stirred into mashed potatoes.

To pit olives, place them on the work surface and tap lightly with a meat pounder or a heavy can to split the olives. Remove the pits.

Makes 1 cup

12 ounces (about 11/2 cups) mixed green and black olives, drained and pitted

1 garlic clove, peeled

3/4 teaspoon chopped or grated orange peel

1 tablespoon and 1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme leaves

Freshly ground black pepper

Chop the olives coarsely. In a mortar with a pestle pound the garlic clove until it is reduced to a puree. Add the orange peel and the thyme leaves and pound to a coarse paste. Add the olives and continue pounding until the olives are smashed into a very coarse mash. Add pepper to taste. To store, pack the olivada in a clean jar and stir in a tablespoon or two of olive oil; refrigerate.

To serve, heat the crushed olives in a medium skillet over moderate heat, adding a tablespoon or two of water to keep them from sticking, until they are hot.