The Cretan Oil

Back home for less than 24 hours, just time enough to unpack the suitcase of Andalucian oils, do the laundry and pack again, this time for sunny Crete. Our Air Berlin flight took us from wet, cold Zurich to baking Heraklion. We stood gasping in the heat as we were introduced to our rental car, a battered Hyundai with barely functioning air conditioning, and made the first of many drives along the oleander-lined highway to our hotel in Rethymnon. The Mythos Hotel had been highly recommended, and when eventually we located it, in the heart of the pedestrian old town, it was indeed a gem, a cool haven of peace. But we were here in search of oil, and our search had us crisscrossing the island, from Rethymnon to Ierapetra and Kolymbari to Avgeniki. The oil, from the tiny koroneiki olives for which Crete is renowned, is delicious, smooth and sweet, and the producers we visited were as enthusiastic as their Andalucian counterparts, lamenting, like them, the damage done to the reputation of their oil by the large producers who label their cheap refined stuff "extra virgin".
But with temperatures soaring as high as 44 degrees, we made time as we travelled to languish in the shade of beachside tavernas, sipping icy ouzos and eating fresh Cretan salads and seafood, cooling off in the clear sparkling sea. In Kalives we found the best taverna of our trip, a heavenly shady refuge from the blistering heat, where we ate cheese pies with honey alongside a huge plate of the local salad, fresh leaves, crumbly goats cheese, olives, cucumbers, tomatoes...

Further on in Georgiopoli we stopped again for another cooling dip (and a beer). The long stretch of beach in the town was busy, but we found a sparsely populated cove between two river outlets, a tiny chapel perched on the rocks at either end. As we drank our beers, I was intrigued by the activities of an independent bare-bottomed toddler in a red dress, playing on the beach while her parents chatted in the taverna. As we went into the water she was there, on a toddler-steeply sloping shelf of gravel. Some long-dormant maternal instinct made me turn to check her, and
when I did the little red-dressed body was face down and weakly struggling in the water. I ran and plucked her out, wide-eyed and spluttering, and she toddled back up to the taverna. I still don't know if her parents realised how close they came to losing their little cutie.

An Andalucian aceite experience

We're looking for a good European olive oil to add to our brand,  in our continuing effort to educate the consumer on the wisdom of using only the best extra virgin oils. Andalucia was a likely prospect, its 165 million or so olive tree producing a large proportion of Europe's olive oil. And after weeks of miserable weather here in Switzerland, it seemed a good idea to head for the land of sunshine.
So early on a cold wet Tuesday early in June we flew out of Zurich for Madrid, and on into the city to catch the AVE down to Cordoba. The AVE, with its guarantee of getting you to your destination on time,  seemed like a good plan - but we hadn't taken into account the rolling strikes in Spain. For an hour, we and our fellow passengers staggered from platform to platform until finally a train was found for us and our trip began. In Cordoba we picked up our rental car and raced to Ubeda, where we were to meet our first olive oil producers.
A relatively new company, Gran Insignia had that very day won a contract to supply Carrefour, so were celebrating. And so began our olive oil education. We returned to our hotel in Ubeda, too exhausted to explore that old hilltop town until the following morning. Even then it was a quick tour, culminating in a great coffee in a little bar, and then we were on the road again, this time down to Pegalajar and the Melgarejo family's impressive operation. Like most of the oils we were to see, the Melgarejo family produce their oil solely from their own olives, and those of family friend and olive oil researcher, Dr Marino Uceda. They are passionate about their oil, and willing to share their vast experience. Here we learned the art of tasting oil, a serious business indeed. A small amount of the oil is poured into a small blue glass tasting cup, which is immediately covered with a crystal lid. The cup is then held in the hand to warm it, and the lid lifted and replaced until the oil has reached a temperature such that the aromas and flavours are fully released. And what aromas! Fresh cut grass, round sweet flavours, and that delicious peppery bite at the back of the throat. We tasted oil from the four  different varieties of olive grown by the Melgarejos: Frantoio, Arbequina, Hojiblanca,and the Andalucian staple, the Picual. Much maligned because it is so often poorly produced, the Picual, we learned, produces the most stable oil and is high in polyphenols. The Melgarejo Picual is labelled "Seleccion" to differentiate it from its less salubrious cousins, those mass-produced late pressings in their large plastic bottles. The real extra virgin oil, in this particular part of Andalucia at least, we were told, is produced only in the period between the 19th October and 20 November. The olives are hand picked and pressed the same day, the oil then stored in vast stainless steel tanks to preserve their quality. The production process is very similar to that we use to produce our avocado oil, and we were familiar with the equipment, the malaxers and centrifuges and tanks, but this was oil production on a massive scale. These family companies pride themselves on their extra virgin oils, but their bread and butter comes from the bulk oil produced from the latter stages of the harvest.
Back in the little rented Seat, we drove on down through rolling hills, carpeted with olive trees as far as the eye could see, to Tabernas and the "Olivar del Desierto" estate, a huge plantation of olive trees in the sun-drenched desert around the tiny town of Tabernas. Famous also as the location of a number of western movies, this area is purported to have the highest number of sunshine hours in Europe. And the oil produced here has a delicious sweet and fruity flavour.
Laden with bottles and samples, we drove on down to the coast, to a somewhat faded but still comfortable hotel where we slept to the sound of the sea crashing onto the beach. Because this wasn't the best week of Spain's summer. We managed to avoid the floods that plagued parts of the country, but it was cold, windy and occasionally wet as we traversed the province of sun. But we'd come for the oil, and we were delighted with our newfound knowledge.
Thursday's destination was Granada, but there was no time to visit the famed Alhambra. We joined the throngs of early evening flaneurs and found the tapas bar recommended by our new friends in Pegalajaro. No room inside the tiny bar so we shivered through a feast of tapas and wandered back to our hotel, preparing for Friday's full day of oil exploration.

Back up to Jean province we drove, this time to Sierra de Seguda, a starkly beautiful natural park of olive and pine trees. Here a cooperative of growers and producers has established an impressive oil production facility, producing both organic and conventional oils. At 900m and above, the trees yield only a fifth of those on the lower lands, and they're not irrigated, relying instead on the water-retention of the limestone. But the organic olives alone come from an area of over 2000 hectares and produce some 500,000kg, with a polyphenol and vitamin E count 50% higher than the lower-lying olives.  And the oil was delicious. The Oro de Genave, from organic piqual olives, smells of apples and grass, and has a smooth rounded green flavour.

After a long lunch at a welcoming restaurant in the local village, we drove back towards Cordoba and our final appointment the next day, in the area known as Los Pedroches.  Our contact there had recommended a hotel in the tiny town of Dos Torres and it was perfection. The Hotel los Usias is a lovingly restored building in the central square of the town, which was celebrating the feast day of its patron saint on the day we arrived. So we joined the inhabitants, strolling the streets and admiring the flower-strewn displays in doorways and parlours, before returning to the hotel and the best meal of our Andalucian odyssey.
Olivarera los Pedroches was our final destination, another vast organic production facility with a high quality oil, but our palates had been conquered by the Seguda oils. So we drove our carefully packed bags of oils back to Cordoba and the AVE, this time thankfully running without a hitch, on to Madrid and home. Briefly...