French olive oil

In the world of olive oils, the French are often overlooked. Their Mediterranean companions -- Spain, Italy and Greece -- often get all the attention. I recently read somewhere -- I wish I could remember where -- that France actually used to have a lot of olive trees, for olive oil-making, but the farmers there pulled them out in favor vineyards for wine a long, long time ago.

These days, few parts of southern France seem to produce olive oil. One of those regions is Provence -- and surprise, surprise, it's on the Mediterranean coast. We recently tasted -- and have used in our daily cooking -- a bottle of Marqolive Extra Virgin Olive Oil, from the Aix-en-Provence appellation. (Courtesy of Shopolives.com) For the geographically-challenged, below is a map:


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This has been a good, fun, and resilient oil to keep close at hand in the kitchen. For one, you get a generous amount for a decent price. Two, it has proved very versatile. I have used it in light sautees, for brushing on warm bread, for freezing and making an olive oil "butter" spread (see an earlier post on freezing olive oil).

Tonight, I made a quick pad thai, and used it in the sautee. It came out awesome. (Yes, I will even go so far as put olive oil in Asian dishes.)


In a more serious tasting environment, where my wife and I sat down and slurped just the oil on its own, and then tasted with a plain foccaccia, this is what we experienced:

Putting her nose to the freshly opened bottle, my wife, K., says: "Apple. I smell apple."

Me, Mr. Wiseguy, remarks: "Oil...I smell....Oil."

Tasting out of tiny glasses, I found the oil viscous, but smooth going down. On a piece of paper, I jotted down notes as my wife and I riffed on the oil: "buttery", "floral", "prairie grass" (have either of us ever been on a prairie? I don't think so, but I digress.)

"The more I smell, the more pepper I pick up," I wrote at one point. It seemed the more contact with the air it had, the more that pepper notes began to emerge. And I like a peppery oil.

On my third mouthful of the oil, the pepper hit the back of my throat, and I coughed -- a good sign.

Said my wife: "It's not peppery in the mouth, but peppery in the throat."

According to a very cool book called "The Flavors of Olive Oil," this Marqolive oil (in French, Huille d'Olive Vierge d'Aix en Provence) was "delicate and mild." I would agree with that description. If you take the time to savor it, though, the pepper will bite you in the back of the throat. The writer, Deborah Krasner, and her tasting group, detected "notes of almond and of grapefruit." (Sadly, no almonds or grapefruit seemed to be in my bottle! oh well.)

Consumers should expect and/or demand labels on their olive oils that are as specific as possible. For this brand of Marqolive, the bottle did not feature an acidity level that would support its extra-virgin labeling, nor does it feature a harvest or production date. But, at least it does feature a "best before" label, which is better than what a lot of olive oil makers do right now. And it does claim the appellation of Aix-en-Provence as its region of origin, so that is some comfort.

You could check out this French website that sells the oil directly, but you'd have to pay international shipping rates, I think. You'd save some cash, I suspect, by going through a U.S. supplier, such as Shopolives.com. (Who does not advertise on my site, by the way.)

Lastly, if you're organizing a tasting, adding a French olive oil to your offerings will definitely give your guests a broader, cosmopolitan variety. Vive la French olive oil! (sorry... could ... not ... resist...corny...French ... pun.)

Costas