A Brief History of the Olive

Food. Medicine. Cosmetic. Ceremonial anointment. Fuel. Symbol of peace, achievement, longevity, and health. Hardly, then, something that should end up in such an undignified state as the denatured, rubber-like black rings that lie sullenly on the slice of take-out pizza. Why did the mighty olive fall so far from grace? Certainly, the raw, uncured fruit of the olive tree is unimpressive as a snack – bitter, astringent, and possessing little substance in contrast to the enormous stone it caries – the olive represents a certain amount of work for the enjoyment to be had from it. It is, however, well worth the effort.

I fall to wondering, sometimes, just how humans end up eating the things that we do. Some items are common sense – we see animals eating them, and assume they must be safe, and some items follow a progression of gastronomic logic – breads and cakes as the result of captured wild yeasts or natural fermentation – it isn’t difficult to play culinary detective and come up with reasonable, if not anthropologically accurate reasons for our food.

A friend of mine has a theory that he applies broadly to human behaviour and particularly to some of the unexpected things that we eat: People do what they do (or eat what they eat) for one or more of three reasons: Necessity, Dares, or Edicts of Kings. I’m not sure which played a role in finding a way to make olives palatable, but I suspect it might have been necessity. Eating a raw olive from a tree these days? That’s either a dare, or a curious foodie who’s not entirely sure how bad it might be. I can tell you, from first hand experience on the island of Corfu, that they are nasty. I did not possess the Herculean strength necessary to swallow the fruit – in fact, the olive spent a shockingly brief time in my mouth before being hastily and reflexively spit into my hand and flung into the bushes. This, my horrified tongue was telling me, is how nature says “Don’t eat.”

How many hungry peasants spitting into the bushes did it take before someone extrapolated – perhaps from the de-bittering process of salting eggplant – that under the harsh frontal assault of the tiny olive lay a tasty treat that could be revealed after a longish salt bath? Or was it the oil that was discovered first? Crushed olives, fallen to the ground leaving an oily residue on the feet or sandals of those who walked beneath? Certainly my unwisely attempted raw olive did not reveal any oiliness in its character to me, although I certainly didn’t look for it.

The truth is that olives originated so very long ago that it is impossible to pinpoint their first culinary application with any sort of accuracy. The best guess is that the original wild olives were native to Asia Minor and spread out to the Mediterranean over 6,000 years ago. It was being grown on Crete at least as long ago as 3,000 BC, and is evidenced in Egyptian tombs from 2000 BC. By the time olives and olive oil got to the Romans, it was transported to the edges of the empire and took hold in as many parts of Europe as had the correct climate for growing the olive tree, and eventually spread to North America, New Zealand and Australia.

The olive is an important part of Greek culture – so much so that its provenance was ascribed to the goddess Athena in a popular myth detailing her battle with Poseidon for patronage of the city of Athens. The olive tree was said to be her gift to the people of Athens, a gift that trumped Poseidon’s competing gift of a salt-water spring, which was deemed not very useful. The olive tree yielded food, oil, and wood, and therefore was the clear winner.

While the most immediate contributions of the olive have always been food, the olive tree has proven all-around useful. The wood and oil can both be burned as fuel, the wood has all the standard carpentry possibilities, and even the branches and leaves have been used to crown the heads of Greek athletes and Roman soldiers (who had a whole hierarchy of crowns from myrtle through laurel).

Throughout history, olive oil has been used for countless cosmetic and ceremonial applications, in addition to its culinary uses: it has been mixed with balsam and to create chrism, in the administration of certain Christian sacraments and the performance of ecclesiastic functions, it is recommended as a body-oil in Islam, and it has been used to anoint kings, champions, and athletes of diverse countries and times. Not only the province of the elite, olive oil was also used as a treatment or curative for many ailments and made into high quality soaps. Olive oil soaps are still easy to find, and some people prefer their texture and (general) tendency toward simple ingredients. While olive oil is also still used by herbal apothecaries and dispensaries to make various salves and creams, the primary use for all things olive is still in the kitchen.

There are hundred of ways to cure olives, but ultimately they boil down to three main methods: brining (how useful Poseidon’s salt-water spring might be, after all!), salt-curing and lye-curing. The length of time that an olive needs to cure is dependant on its bitterness and density of olive flesh, which affects salt-penetration time. It is highly different for olives of different varieties and from different locations. Each region has its preferred methods for curing olives, so the liquids, spices, and amount of salt that is used is relative to the cuisine of the area.

Wrinkled, salt-cured olives from southern Italy or Morocco are better for cooking than snacking out of hand, but any cured olive will have some culinary application. Olives do not like a long simmer, as it can extract the remaining bitterness and spread it throughout the dish. If you’re adding olives to a slow-cooked recipe, add them towards the end of cooking.

So what about that nasty pizza olive, also found on salad bars throughout North America? The usual varietal used to make them is the California-grown Mission olive, which simply has less flavour and less character than its European cousins. I speculate that their widespread availability is based more on the marketing triumphs of California growers as opposed to their usefulness. While I generally embrace the notion of purchasing locally grown foods, if your nearest olive is the Mission, you may want to make an exception. It is entirely possible that the bland Mission olive is responsible for 90% of North Americans who say that they don’t like olives.

Even those who don’t care for the olive as a food seem quite taken with it as a cooking oil. Certainly, olive oil is declaimed as the “magic bullet of nutrition and a healthy diet” full of antioxidants, which are much touted for cleaning up free radicals before they do much harm to one’s body. Whether or not olive oil is contributory to cancer prevention, however it is definitely one of the healthier oils to be consuming, consisting primarily of monounsaturated fat. Monounsaturated fats are cleared more quickly by the liver than other kinds of fats, which limits the opportunity for atherosclerosis to develop.

For all its extolled health benefits, olive oil is, however, 100% fat. Calorically, it is no different from lard or butter . Not advisable, therefore, for anyone to consume in vast quantities, despite the various beneficial properties it may possess, nor is it advisable to eat massive amounts of olives – where the oil came from in the first place. What is the nutritional content of the average cured olive? Sodium, of course, leftover from the curing process, but also vitamin A, and a small amount of calcium. Trace amounts of other minerals – potassium, iron, magnesium. And flavour! The actual amount of fat in cured olives is generally less than a gram of fat per tablespoon (unless there is an oil marinade, which increases the fat), which makes it less detrimental than a tablespoon of peanut butter. Certainly, in the quantity that olives are generally eaten – a handful per meal, say, or ground up into a tapenade and used as a dip or spread – is not dietarily problematic.

So, the olive joins the other miraculous foods – dark chocolate, red wine – as something well worth including in your diet. It has justifiably been a staple since it was first domesticated, is a multi-tasker of prodigious talents, and has earned its place in history and on our tables. Check out a well-stocked olive bar in a Mediterranean deli, if you get the chance - most are happy to give out tasters, and you may just find an olive that you love.

September 2005