Annotated Photo Essay, Stepped
With pneumatic combs, to the droning sound of the generator and smattering rakes, olives fall to the ground. In this case, onto strategically placed nets that are systematically moved from plant to plant as olives are collected, in a habitual motion shuffled into the bin, and thereafter transferred via the shoulder into the four hundred kilo sized container placed on the trailer. It is heavy work, step by step, and observing how the olives are manually gathered and nets dragged through the orchard as the harvesting team moves within it, it is easily understood why rain, even the risk thereof, cancels harvest; one can only imagine the weight of drenched and mud-soaked nets. In the case of rain, tutti si bagnano, and this is no good neither for the workers nor for the machinery used. Importantly, rain is no good for the quality of the end-product, namely the excellent extra virgin olive oils that the olives become when harvested at a time of perfect balance maturity wise. That is, when most turned violaverde, others completely neri, and some in their green status are yet to mature. Collecting, inspecting, comparing, and sensuously interacting with olives of various colors – invaia, or degree of maturity if you will – I take note of their various features, sense their different degree of suppleness, fluidity and aroma.
Once in awhile — when the generator turns silent to be repositioned, or the combs stop to be given some care, greased with biological lubricants and tautened with tools as they are — the chirping sound of birds accompanies the fruity smell of gathered olives. Most olives collected come from secular trees of the local variety Ogliarola, a few from the local variety of Coratina, and in their gross assemble, they collectively constitute the roughly 1000 kg taken to the pressing facility to be transformed into ottimo olio. Step by step, gathered becomes the raw material, and step by step, I become habituated to move with the workers, together with Nicola removing branches from the nets and olives from the branches. Through my branch-picking-olive-clearing participation of engagement, I step by step become part of the embodied and emplaced practices by which olives become olive oils. The exercise pain felt in my legs speaks to it, let alone, to my learning presence, for in taking note of and imitating Nicola’s movements, my own body has yet to adapt to the practices undertaken.
Once gathered, the olives are moved from la campagna to il frantoio, where they are unloaded, weighed, transferred from the container to the funnel, cleared of leaves and stones and aquatically cleaned no less than twice before entering the kneading phase. Mechanically processed, the olives are at this point, under the condition of low temperatures so to fully activate present enzymes and preserve antioxidants – in this particular case, up to 23,6 degrees Celsius – kneaded into a paste under the duration of 45 minutes. A paste in kind, the oil hereafter becomes separated from water by means of a centrifuge, and this is the last step of extraction before the cold pressed extra virgin olive oil aromatically fills up the air and creating a sort of pleasantly fruity fume as it flows from the pipe into the tin tank. It is, however, not the last step of the process, for once completed in its extraction, the lightly green and medio fruttato oil – in its characteristics re(as)sembling the features of the maturity of the olives from which it derives – becomes chemically tested to measure its level of acidity; thereby, indicate its quality and hint its recognized level of health benefit when consumed. This particular oil contains a level of 0.2 and is according to its producer eccellente. Two bottles are filled, and the office entered. We do, as Peppino jokingly says with reference to five o’clock tea, apropos the occurrence that the oil starts trickling at 5 pm sharp, and sipper “five o’clock oil”. We toast and scent, sip and savour, make slurping sounds as we draw air between our semi-closed lips and experience the character of the oil in our mouths; also in our throats as we swallow. Tested and evaluated, in the terms of Corrado described as medium fruity and very herbage with a powerful bitterness and with notes of florals and sour apple and hints of green banana and tomato leaves, the bottles are capped. One is handed to me with the comment “il frutto del lavoro”. While I myself find it difficult to distinguish and describe the notes, tones, and tastes such as Corrado does, I may indeed sense the well-balanced medium fruity bitterness. Happily, I may conclude that the day-fresh olive oil that I myself have been part of making, when dressed on bruschetta with oregano-sprinkled tomatoes, such as Corrado advises it to be eaten as I get home, taste absolutely delicious.
