Get Cracking

As a Catholic kid growing up in small-town Ohio, I often heard the story about our parish priest and how his refrigerator was empty except for a family-size jar of peanut butter with a spoon in it. This scrap of gossip was the discovery of church women who cleaned the rectory. They wasted no time sharing the tale with anyone who would listen.

I probably heard it half a dozen times, always in the company of women, and always followed by shrieks of laughter. As best I could tell, the delight came in knowing that the priest, a cranky World War II veteran who ran the parish like a drill sergeant, was no different from any other bachelor who didn’t know his way around a kitchen.

This annoyed me, but only when my mother was among the laughing. How could she take such delight at the priest’s expense, when she did the same thing? In fact, her entire family did it. It wasn’t peanut butter, and it didn’t stand alone in the refrigerator, but there was a huge jar and a spoon that, thank God, was used as a ladle, not an eating implement.

My family’s bottomless jar contained Sicilian cracked olives, or as my grandmother called them, olive schiacciate, a tart and tangy mixture of olives, chopped celery, sliced red onion, pepperoncini and garlic, all bathed in an oregano-infused brine. At least twice a day, someone would open the fridge and take a heaping spoonful to enjoy alongside an Italian sausage sandwich on homemade bread or a piece of cold veal Milanese. Every day of the week, every week of the year, you could count on these olives. And the longer a batch sat, the better it tasted.

Grandma is long departed, but to this day, these luscious olives call to me.

At first, trying to make them was a puzzle. How much water to vinegar, and what’s the ratio of sugar? I experimented again and again, often forgetting to write down measurements, then having to start all over with the next try. By the time I learned that my aunt had the recipe, I had it figured out--except for one thing: how to remove the pits. The tart Sicilian olives cling fast to their pits, and it’s almost impossible to extract them without destroying the fruit.

Grandma left no clue.

I tried smashing the olives with the handle of a heavy knife and came close to losing a finger. Cutting the pits free with a paring knife was also a lost cause. Cherry pitters? Not up to the task.

What worked best, I found, was slamming the olives with the bottom of a full wine bottle until they crack open. This allows for the removal of the pits without demolishing the fruit. You end up with olives that are cracked but still hold their shape.

Grandma would be proud.

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Olivology

* The olive was first mentioned in ancient Egyptian documents.

* Spaniards first introduced olives to California about 1769. The state produces 100%of the olives grown commercially in the U.S. -- about 118,000 tons worth $48.3 million in 2003.

* One possibly apocryphal story is that gin shipped from Holland in the 19th century was sometimes of such poor quality that oil and other impurities often floated on its surface. Salty olives on toothpicks were stirred in the gin to soak up the impurities.This drink was allegedly consumed on the ferry from San Francisco to Martinez, Calif., and became known as the martini.

* “Women Picking Olives,”painted by Vincent van Gogh in 1889-’90, hangs in New York ‘s Metropolitan Museum of Art.

* Grazing at supermarket olive stations is considered unseemly.

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SICILIAN CRACKED OLIVES

Makes about 2 quarts

1 1/2 pounds large, green sharply flavored Sicilian olives (unseasoned if possible), pitted and torn in half

1/2 large red onion, sliced

1/2 bunch coarsely chopped celery, including leaves

1 cup coarsely chopped bottled pepperoncini

2 large garlic cloves, cut in halves

3/4 to 1 teaspoon dried, crumbled oregano

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

1 cup white vinegar

1 cup water

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Combine all of the ingredients in a large glass jar or noncorrosive bowl or pan; refrigerate at least 24 hours. Stir and adjust the seasonings. If too tart, add a bit more sugar, a little more water or both; if not tart enough, add a bit more vinegar, adjusting to personal taste. You may need a bit of salt. (The flavor will become more complex the longer the olives sit.) For best quality, eat within 3 months.