For Two Grandmas, A Century of Olives

Niki Spelous made her first batch of olives in America in 1955, 20 days after she arrived from Greece. Alexandra Panousis has been curing her own since 1948. That’s what food homesickness will do.

On this sunny afternoon, the two grandmothers are sitting at lunch at Spelous’ hilltop home overlooking the San Pedro harbor. Along with some relatives and friends, they are spending a nice afternoon talking about food. And, of course, with these two eightysomethings, that includes olives. On this, they have strong opinions--after all, they’ve got over a century of curing between them.

Panousis, 89 and a celebrated home cook in the Los Angeles Greek community, prepared the lunch--a refreshing cucumber and tomato salad with crumbled feta cheese, moist baked chicken, sauteed greens from the garden, hot buttery orzo, and golden spanakopita. In the center of the table--as with most Greek tables--Panousis sets a platter of olives, served in the traditional way, with slabs of milky white feta.

In past years, the olives would have been Panousis’. But the olives her son-in-law picked for her from his tree last fall turned out to be bad, infested with bugs. So she took the year off; she’ll pick up again this year. Fortunately, Spelous, an 82-year-old, brought some of her own homemade Kalamatas: black, oval beauties with an oily sheen and a meaty texture. They had an intense richness and depth, an almost nutty flavor, and a perfume of garlic and oregano.

Growing up, Panousis and Spelous ate olives nearly every day. “It’s all we had for lunch: bread and olives and cheese,” says Panousis, who’s from Korinthos. “Everybody in the village had olive trees and made olives.”

And Greek households were competitive. Not in any official way, but there was plenty of chatter about whose olives were best. That competitiveness is still alive and well. Over lunch, Panousis and Spelous (who operated a Greek pastry shop for many years in Redondo Beach) dis several of their fellow cooks whose olives fell short of their standards. “They don’t fix them the right way, like we do,” says Panousis. “They make them too plain. Maybe their taste is plain.”

Getting raw olives here isn’t as easy as it is in Greece. Panousis has one tree in her front yard, but ever since a major pruning three years ago, the tree has stopped producing fruit. Now it sits, with its unmistakable pointed leaves and delicate but sturdy branches, in front of the house, on one side of the driveway, a sort of stalwart welcoming committee of one.

Panousis and Spelous are undeterred, however. During the harvest season, which typically runs from late summer to early winter, neither woman is shy about knocking on a stranger’s door and asking if they can pick from their trees. Often, people are receptive, especially since olives are messy when they fall, staining the ground with their dark color.

They also mention several other promising sources, where-while not admitting to having picked there themselves-they say that plenty of people do: the grounds of their Redondo Beach church, St. Katherine; a South Bay hotel where the landscape is dotted with olive trees; and the parking lot outside TRW in El Segundo.

For those not interested in foraging for raw olives, Panousis and Spelous recommend the Los Angeles Wholesale Produce Market downtown or A-1 Imported Groceries in San Pedro. Farmer’s Ranch Market in Van Nuys also stocks fresh olives in season.

One of the greatest myths of the olive-curing process is that lye is required. While most manufacturers and large producers do use lye to draw out the intense, natural bitterness of the olives, Panousis and Spelous, like nearly all home cooks, use coarse salt.

“Olives are easy to make,” says Spelous. “Anybody can do it.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Panousis responds. “It’s a lot of work.”

Certainly, the impatient need not apply. Spelous’ favorite, the green olives called Kopanistes, which are simply immature versions of the round black type, require about two weeks. Kalamata olives require approximately a month. In both cases, the olives cured in brine, changed daily.

Black wrinkled olives, Panousis’ favorite, take about three weeks, and the process is slightly different. Olives and salt are placed in a cloth bag, such as a flour sack, which is turned daily and then covered with a heavy stone or bricks, to hasten the process. This isn’t one of those “sit back and put your feet up” miracles.

Like most olive veterans, Panousis and Spelous make huge batches, upward of 20 pounds at a time. After all, olives last at least a year if stored in a cool place.

“If you want to eat good olives,” says Panousis, “you’re going to do the work.”

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Alexandra Panousis and Niki Spelous will talk about olives and the curing process Aug. 19 at 2 p.m. as part of the L.A. Greek Fest at the St. Sophia Greek Orthodox Cathedral, 1324 S. Normandie Ave., L.A. This year’s festival runs Aug. 17 from 5 to 11 p.m., Aug. 18 from 11 a.m. to 11 p.m. and Aug. 19 from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. Admission is $3. Children younger than 12 are free. Call (323) 737-2424, Ext. 555, for more information, or visit https://www.LAGreekFest.com.