Oil slick

A tapestry of olives in various stages of ripeness

A tapestry of olives in various stages of ripeness

The olive harvest this year was very patchy. Some of our trees bore well, but they were in the minority.

I expected our neighbour (the one who mows the grass, picks the olives and takes them to the press) to bring us at least a sample of oil but he’s been very quiet on the subject.

I phoned him this evening.

After blinding me with science (quantities and weights and prices of olive oil and tractor diesel, in which the ghastly Italian unit ‘quintallo’ featured prominently), he came to a simple conclusion.

If we were to have ‘bruschetta’ (olive oil drizzled onto toasted bread), he would be unable to.

I didn’t say anything.

After a pause he said he would bring us a bottle of oil before Christmas.

 

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