by Rhiannon Rees - Nibbana Healing Spa Whistler, copyright Whistler Question
I took a bottle of the olive oil home with me to Australia. The heat was heavy and moist; the sun too bright at noon and there was no breeze across the dry bushes along the path. My partner did not like olive oil on bread, “Never heard of it before, and all that salt isn’t good for you. No I prefer butter.” His eyes were half closed indeed , but against the rising cigarette smoke and no hint of lust moved in their depths. His words did not stroke me, nor did I want his negligent hand on my knee. With a sigh I turned to the olive oil bottle and dribbled a few drops on my bread. No greenish colour, no nutty taste, just plain olive oil, slightly aged. I still love it though, I think.
I will try every new brand which comes on the market. Extra virgin olive oil, plain virgin olive oil, second pressing, third pressing, filtered, unfiltered, early picking, late picking, the sellers think of a description, I will buy it. Oil from Spain and Greece, Turkey and Tunisia and Italy, always Italy.
Once in the Adelaide hills I actually recovered the greenish tint, that distinct nutty flavour, that smell. A local produce. Yet the day was too bright once again, the red wine too smooth, not that rough taste which makes you cough with the first sip. The bread was obviously from a store down the road, the machined slices so dull and regular and thin, reminding me of a grey spinster with a flat chest and twittering, nervous voice. I could almost taste the plastic wrapping. My girlfriend was sitting opposite me under a too bright umbrella. Much too new. Yet, I still love olive oil. Indeed I do.
One day, I will go back to the source. One day. Sitting in a small restaurant nestled amongst those mellow Italian hills, the afternoon sun painting with warm ochre colours, a faint breeze carrying earthy odours, wooden tables bare and familiar and opposite me a man (he has to be swarthy.) and that oh so special look in his eyes – “I really want you”. Greenish olive oil on warm, crusty, freshly baked bread, a proprietor with a smudged apron, a wide smile and those knowing eyes: that special red wine which makes you gasp with the first taste and garlic, lots of garlic.
Then I will be in love again. Oh yes, once more so in love.