Crabbing

Crabbing is a traditional WA pastime.  Many Western Australian cities are based on estuaries where crabs thrive, and here in Perth, on any given morning or evening you’ll see fisherman on the Swan or Canning Rivers dropping crab nets from their tinnies (tin boats). 

We go crabbing at least a few times each summer.  Catching a crab is much easier than preparing one for a meal.  You don’t need a boat to catch a crab; although that’s the only way I’ve ever done it.  According to Shane, there are three ways to catch a crab:  on a boat using drop nets, wading through the water with a handheld scoop net, or by chasing them.  If you’ve seen the fierceness of a crab’s claws, then you’ll understand that the first option is the more comfortable and safer one.

Drop nets have a small central pouch where you store the crab bait which may include raw chicken, organ meat, or lamb to name a few.  The net which sits on the floor of the estuary is connected to a rope affixed with a buoy.  Drop several nets in a straight line several meters apart, have a yarn (chat) and a beer, and then pull the nets up about 20 minutes later in hopes that they contain a crab or two. You must pull fast or else you risk the crabs swimming out of the net.

Last weekend we went crabbing on the Peel Estuary in Mandurah about 45 minutes south of Perth.  Within 2 hours we caught 20 crabs of legal size.  Female crabs with egg sacks must also be released.  Egg sacks are easily visible at the rear of the body.  Female crabs also have smaller claws and are browner in color, while male crabs are bluer.  I did not know until I first went crabbing 12 years ago that crabs don’t turn red until cooked.  Female crabs also have a different patterned belly which includes blue markings.

I still get a bit squeamish throwing a living crab into a pot of boiling water but ten minutes later, they are red and dead and the real fun begins.  A big mess and a lot of effort is required to crack and clean a crab and you’re usually left with little to show for.  But there’s a bit of excitement that comes with catching your own meal and controlling the full supply chain of what you eat, especially when it’s something as treasured as crab legs.

putting bait in the drop net

pulling up a drop net with a crab

into the bucket

into the bucket

hanging on

what a beauty

measuring the crab to ensure it's of legal size for keeping

20 crabs.  Note the female on the right with the blue belly.

red, dead and ready to pulled into pieces

crabbing with scoop nets

Thanksgiving

When the Pilgrims and the Indians sat down for the first Thanksgiving, I’m guessing they didn’t cook a hot meal in the 95 degree spring heat (with no air-conditioning by the way), making trips down to the beach between baking the pumpkin pie and stuffing the turkey. Then again, I suppose they didn’t saddle up on the couch for a game of football or eat cranberry dressing from a tin can.

This is the third year I’ve enforced Thanksgiving upon my husband’s family. I can count on my father-in-law to eat anything I put in front of him. But getting the rest of the crew to eat things like pumpkin pie and sweet potato casserole is a challenge. I know, weird, huh? This presents an additional challenge, because it means I’m left to eat the bulk of the leftovers by myself. Did I mention I work from home? Shane’s sister and her husband lived in the US for five years and understand the tradition. Kym even makes a mean apple pie. And for the first time this year, I got rave reviews on the sweet potato casserole. My mother-in-law now understands that it’s part of the main meal and not a dessert. She also announced that she overate which she never does. So this Thanksgiving thing is definitely catching on.

Preparing a Thanksgiving feast down under presents other difficulties. My first Thanksgiving in Perth I must have visited four major grocery stores looking for things like canned pumpkin and frozen pie crust before realizing it’s just not available and I’d have to go about things the old fashioned way. Under normal circumstances I’m a proponent of cooking from scratch, but a pumpkin pie isn’t a pumpkin pie unless it comes from a can. So, I rolled up my sleeves, boiled and mashed the pumpkin, rolled out the dough and successfully baked a real pumpkin pie and then did it again the next year.

But something magical happened earlier this year. While shopping at a local specialty grocers I came across two (dusty) cans of pumpkin ordered from usafoods.com.au.  I was so excited that I purchased both cans and sat them quietly in the back of my cupboard until this week. It wasn’t until later that I noticed I had spent $7.25 a can. For my crust this year I settled on a sweet flan case, not to be confused with a savory flan case. Aussies love their meat pies but sweet pies aren’t as common and after baking with a frozen flan case for the first time I realized it’s essentially a pie crust.

That’s the anatomy of a pumpkin pie down under. But, I’ve had to make a couple other amendments to my tradition American meal.

Big turkeys are difficult to come by. Thanks to Christmas, frozen turkeys start to appear in the stores at the end of November and for the first year I was able to find a turkey bigger than 5 kilos (11 lbs) to feed 8 adults and 4 children. Our 7.2 kilo bird was more than enough to feed the family with a day or two of leftovers.

But you can’t have a turkey without cranberry dressing and who doesn’t love a big can shaped blob of processed cranberries with ridges. No tin can cranberries in Australia, but thanks to Ocean Spray it comes in a glass jar. And what’s a turkey without cranberry dressing and my apple, sultana and almond stuffing – I mean apple, raisin and almond stuffing.

Black Diamonds

They are a 3000 year old culinary mystery. I enjoy them mostly with mashed potatoes. Some prefer them in pasta or with steak. However you take them, add one to your dish and watch the price triple. They are a delicacy with a distinctive taste and an indescribable scent. At $3,000 a kilogram, Black Truffles have rightfully earned the nickname black diamonds.

At the end of May, Perth was all a buzz with the launch of the truffle season, or at least I was all a buzz with the launch of the truffle season. Living three hours north of the largest truffle producer in the southern hemisphere, I was keen to learn more about this rare fungus. With the truffle season soon coming to an end, I finally had my chance this weekend at the Mundaring Truffle Festival in “the hills,” an area 30 minutes east of Perth which comprises the rolling hills and small towns on the outskirts of the Perth metropolitan area.

The Mundaring Truffle Festival was an opportunity to eat everything truffle, purchase truffle products, and learn a bit about truffles, including watching truffle sniffing dogs in action. With options such as truffle risotto, wagyu beef burgers with truffles, and truffle pizza, I made sure I arrived on an empty stomach.

Nearly half of the world’s Black Truffles are harvested in France and Southern Hemisphere production didn’t begin until the late 1980’s in New Zealand. Today, Western Australia (specifically the southern region) is the largest producing truffle state in the largest producing truffle country in the southern hemisphere. The cultivation first came about in an effort to satisfy the large truffle markets of Europe and America during their off season. This time of year, West Australian truffles are flown to top restaurants all over the northern hemisphere. Eating local produce is all the rage these days but truffles are an exception.

So how do you grow them? Well, you don’t really. It’s a delicate combination of the right temperatures (hot summers and cool but not too cold winters), the right amount of rainfall (at least 700mm a year), the right type of soil (free draining with a ph of 8), the right trees (mostly oak or hazelnut), some well trained dogs (usually a retrieving or hunting breed such as labradors or beagles), and lots of patience (about 5 to 10 years for the first crop to sprout). Truffles begin to grow around the roots of the trees during summer and are harvested in winter. The dogs, or sometimes pigs, detect the smell and a knowledgeable grower digs them up and determines if they are ready to be released from the ground. And about that smell. I smelled my first fresh truffle today and I can best describe it as a mix of earth and vodka. Most commonly it’s described as smelling like old socks and sex which for some is kind-of like earth and vodka I suppose.

We left the festival with our bellies full of truffle infused foods and local wine and for $40 I came home with truffle oil, truffle mustard, and truffle butter from the Wine and Truffle Company. It’s safe to say, I’m all stocked up on old socks and sex.

not just for savory dishes,

a custard and truffle tart

a truffle under the cup

goodies from the Wine & Truffle Co.

Olives so good I could eat 'em. Kind-of.

It’s been eight weeks since I plucked my olives from the backyard tree and placed them in brine for fermentation. Well, I’m sad to report that the final product didn’t quite turn out as I had envisioned. Although the step-by-step process of fermenting olives is rather simple, a perfect balancing act of chemicals and environment is necessary for them to end up as the plump shiny fruit you see sitting behind the deli counter. It’s easier to blame my failure on science rather than the possibility that I made some fatal amateur mistakes.

Early into the process I was exposed to the vulnerabilities of olive fermentation. At the end of week one I headed out to the garage for the first check-up. I was immediately deflated when I discovered that white spots had started to develop on most of the olives. I consulted with my local olive expert who diagnosed mould over the phone but reassured me that mould growth is rather common and the cure is a rinse in fresh water and a new batch of brine. After dissecting a couple olives and doing a bit of research I discovered that it couldn’t be mould as mould would grow on the surface and I wasn’t dealing with spots or surface growth but with a loss in pigmentation making my olives look pale and unattractive.

I decided to keep on with the process to see what evolved and in the meantime I’d do some research. As the weeks went by the loss of pigmentation spread but I continued forward refreshing the brine occasionally. After about four weeks they started to smell like olives (a good sign) but I wasn’t quite ready to give them a taste test.

By week seven I was ready to risk my health and send one down the hatch. I probably should have offered Bronson the opportunity to be my guinea pig but I’m not that patient or cruel. He’s already had one adverse olive experience. Besides, I figured if it was lethal, surely I would have come across something in my research that said “do not eat olives if they change color or you will die.” The good news is they tasted like olives, albeit very salty olives and I’ve survived with no problems thus far. I decided to give them a fresh batch of brine and let them stew for one more week and on Saturday I vacated them from their home for the past eight weeks and put them in a large bowl of fresh water to sit in the fridge for a day before preserving in oil and garlic.

I wish I could tell you that a clear diagnosis has been made but after doing research at the world’s largest library, google.com, I have yet to come up with a final conclusion. One site alluded to the fruit turning white from the salt leaching into its body. Yeast colonies are a common pest however, the yeast appears as bumps on the surface and I’d already determined that it was a change in color and not a growth. I think. Even if it is yeast, the experts on google.com have assured me that the olives are still safe to eat.

But one possibility appears more likely than the rest. I used iodized salt, and after the fact, I learned on a handful of sites that you are not to use iodized salt. In fact iodized salt should not be used when brining any type of food. I also think I may have left them in the brine too long, further adding to the salty flavor. The smaller the container the shorter the fermentation period and I probably didn’t need eight weeks. Both rookie mistakes.

I was recently told that when Bikram Choudhury, the founder of Bikram Yoga, makes a mistake he says “excuse me for living.” So live and learn I shall. I’ll do some proper research between now and next autumn and hopefully next year I’ll have beautiful olives so I can fulfill my fantasy of lounging on the sofa eating my own homegrown olives. I’m not completely giving up on this year’s crop. I plan to let them sit in oil for a while and put them to use as a tapenade. However, I don’t think I’ll be giving them out as Christmas presents this year.

I dream of Thermomix

Once upon a time, in the midst of casual conversation, a business acquaintance told me of this miracle kitchen appliance that will replace every domestic device you own. It can grind, whip, mince, knead, heat, blend and more. I was listening…but not for long. She may next have said that it also vacuums the house, does the laundry and cleans the toilette but when I heard $2,000 I tuned out and this miracle machine became nothing but a fleeting memory.

Fast forward seven months and my sister-in-law Kym mentions that a friend is now a sales rep for Thermomix; this kitchen appliance that does the work of over ten machines. Once again, the thought of it vanished as quickly as it had emerged because paying $2000 for a kitchen appliance wasn’t going to happen. Kind-of like meeting (insert celebrity crush). Possible, but highly unlikely so no point dwelling.

Fast forward another two months (last Friday) and the opportunity arose for me to attend a Thermomix party with Kym. Thermomix cannot be found in stores or purchased online. Instead it’s sold through Thermomix reps like the brands Tupperware or Avon. I had no intention of buying one (and neither did she) but I was keen to see it in action and find out what the fuss was all about. The verdict? Definitely worth the $2,000. I left the demonstration actually considering purchasing one.

In a matter of seconds I witnessed it turn buckwheat grains into flour, ice chunks into sorbet, and raw sugar into powdered sugar. In less than two hours we sampled homemade bread, cream cheese dip, beet salad, risotto, lemon sorbet and lemon custard. This is only a fraction of the duties it can perform. It can mince meat, make juices, dressings, sauces, yogurt, peanut butter, the list goes on. No measuring cups required. It has a built-in scale which can be set to zero after each ingredient is added without having to remove existing ingredients. Oh yeah, and it’s impossible to burn or overcook allowing more time for multi-tasking. But best of all, it has a self-cleaning function. Bliss.

I enjoy cooking. I don’t always enjoy the time it takes or the mess it produces but having a machine that does everything and does it beautifully can open up a world of cooking possibilities that I have yet to explore. I’ve taken a vested interest in knowing each ingredient that goes into my mouth. No need to buy processed foods with mystery ingredients; this will process food for you without any fuss giving you total control over what you eat. Many of their sauce and dressing recipes even tell you how long they will last in the fridge or freezer. Shane has Celiac disease and this machine is an answered prayer for those with food allergies.

So, why hadn’t I heard of it before? It’s been available for years in various countries. I wanted to know if it was available in the U.S. I located the U.S. office of its manufacturer, Vorwerk, a German company. Over a lengthy email I was told that it’s not available in the U.S. “due to tight U.S. regulations” and that if I purchased one overseas I could not use it in the U.S., even with an outlet converter because of something to do with hertz. Not to mention, it measures in grams and celsius which are not conducive to U.S. cooking. The people of America are being denied most likely due to some ridiculous import regulations or Vorwerk risking a challenge of its patent.

Am I going to purchase one? I need to think on this one a bit more. Having to part with it someday when Shane and I decide to uproot and head to the States could cause some angst. Not to mention the whole $2,000 thing. I also have this sense that it may take the old-fashioned fun out of cooking. Although if I had screaming children running around the kitchen I may not care about old-fashioned fun so I can see where this product is a busy parent’s dream where healthy yet simple cooking is a priority.

If you’d like to see if for yourself visit the Thermomix Australia site. To view a demonstration do a YouTube search on “Thermomix” although most videos are in German, Spanish or French so a “Thermomix Australia” search is probably a better way to go.

Wine, chocolate and other indulgences in Margaret River

We were well overdue for a weekend "down south." For weeks, no months actually, we’d been talking about spending a night down in Margaret River, sans Bronson who would stay with Shane’s parents. In the 10th hour (not quite the 11th but somewhere around the 10th) we booked a room for Saturday night and locked it in. Really, we had no excuse not to. Staying in Perth for the weekend would most likely see us landing a spot on our couch rather than a spot in the social pages of Sunday’s paper.

The town of Margaret River is 280 kilometers (175 miles) south of Perth and a three hour drive. The main street of town (and that's all you get) is less than a mile long and reminds me of the mountain towns of Colorado but with surf shops in place of ski shops. It’s charming, sophisticated, trendy, and full of surfing vagabonds. But, the town itself is not the attraction, it’s the entire Margaret River Region with its diverse range of tourist delights that make it a popular weekend get-away for us city dwellers. The region encompasses the land between Cape Naturaliste on the north and Cape Leeuwin on the south. The particularly adventurous can hike the 135 kilometer (84 mile) Cape to Cape track along the Indian Ocean. We chose to cover this region in the comfort of our car along Caves Road which also goes from Cape to Cape.

The top attraction in Margaret River is its wineries. The first vines were planted in 1967, in 1996 the wine region was officially registered, and today it’s the home of over 100 wineries, most of them with cellar doors open to the public. Another famous attraction is its enormous surfing waves. Margaret River attracts surfers from around the globe and has been home to several pro surfing competitions.

But there’s more! The limestone coast hides around 350 caves, 4 of them which are open to the public for tours. These caves are overshadowed by the area’s other attractions but are awe- inspiring and definitely worth a visit. And after you’ve sampled the last glass of wine, there’s always whale watching. Each winter Humpback and Southern Right Whales travel from the frozen waters of Antarctica to the warmer shores of Australia. Tour operators provide boat tours for an up close and personal experience or you can sit on the beach and watch as they leap and frolic in the distance. Did I mention the locally grown olives, gourmet foods, beautiful Karri forests with 60 meter canopies, and yes, there is an actual Margaret River winding its way through rolling hills out into the Indian Ocean.

We wanted to sample it all in less than 48 hours and I must say my trip left me wanting more and suggesting to Shane that we should spend a month or so immersing ourselves in all it has to offer...after we win that 40 million lotto jackpot tomorrow night.

We left Perth around 9am, arriving in town just in time for lunch at the popular Margaret River Bakery. We then decided to head down to the southern point that is Cape Leeuwin where the Indian and Southern Oceans meet. We were hoping to spot some whales but either we were too impatient or there were none around. It was a completely respectable hour to start drinking wine so we hit up two wineries, one of which was also a farm shop and relaxed on their patios on a beautiful winter’s day.

Our home for the night was the Loaring Place Bed and Breakfast. A lovely B&B off Caves Road tucked away in the bush with four guest rooms. A steal at $185 a night during this slow time of year. But before heading to the B&B we stopped by the Margaret River Venison Shop for some dried meats. We really wanted to have dinner at one of the wineries. Only a few of the larger wineries serve dinner and instead many serve lunch or “nibbles” during the day. We ate at Leeuwin Estate which took us down dark windy roads that opened up to the beautiful winery with its small restaurant. It was a perfect setting.

Although many of the wineries open at 10am on a Sunday, we needed to ease into our wine tasting so we did a one hour tour of Lake Cave that morning. I learned many fascinating things about caves and being exposed to millions of years of history made me feel very small. We then had lunch at the Bootleg Brewery, yes there are also local brewers in Margaret River, before hitting up a couple more wineries, then the Providore Farm Shop and the Margaret River Chocolate Company.

When it came time to make our way back to Perth we drove though some tiny beach towns and also the popular beach destinations of Dunsborough and Busselton. We returned home with deer, emu, and kangaroo sausages, sundried pears and plums, various types of chocolates, raw unprocessed honey, vanilla figs and about an extra kilo on our waistlines.

Although Margaret River attracts both interstate and international tourists, its isolation no doubt keeps some travelers at bay. Perth is so damn isolated that a return airline ticket from the east coast is around $500 AUD on average and a 4.5 hour flight and then you still have to get to Margaret River. I’m not complaining. I’m happy to keep it all to ourselves in WA.

 Karri Forest

 a Margaret River Winery

 Lake Cave (with a cow from the cow parade hanging over it)

watching surfers

Kangaroo, it's what's for dinner.

The times when Shane and I do our weekly grocery shopping as a team he tackles the meat section and I dominate the remainder of the grocery store. Shortly after moving to Australia he introduced me to a new category of meat, the marsupial, or macropod to be exact. There isn’t much I leave off my dinner plate but I’m sure you can understand my trepidation.

The meat isle at your local Coles or Woolworths (not to be confused with the US Woolworths) looks something like this: beef, lamb, pork, poultry and mince as in ground meat. Tucked away at the end of the isle, next to the minced dog meats, you’ll find kangaroo in the form of roasts, fillets and even “kanga bangas” (that’s kangaroo sausages for you Yankees). All this might lead the uninformed shopper to believe that kangaroo is crap and you’re better off leaving it for the mutt.

Au contraire! Kangaroo, when cooked properly, is da-licious! When overcooked, it can be a bit tough and gamey and it’s no good as a leftover. But when kept a bit pink in the middle it’s tender, juicy and perfectly tasty. Shane will only eat red meat a bit pink. To quote my high school swim coach he prefers his meal “crying for its mama” so our kangaroo is never overcooked but don’t worry, it’s definitely dead.

The buck doesn’t stop there. Kangaroo is healthy, environmentally friendly and affordable. It’s high in protein with less than 2% fat and in addition to a myriad of essential vitamins and nutrients it has a high concentration of conjugated linoleic acids (CLA) which have anti-carcinogenic and anti-diabetic properties and can reduce obesity and atherosclerosis.

Kangaroos are not farm-raised. Commercial meat comes from the wild and eating kangaroo over other types of meat can help reduce greenhouse gas emissions because, unlike sheep and cattle, kangaroos produce very little to no methane gas. But, I’m going to stop here because I’m no expert in this area. All I know is that it’s cheaper than most meats and in an expensive city within an expensive country that leaves me feeling pretty chuffed.

But when considering the above, it’s surprising that most Australians don’t incorporate kangaroo into their diet. A 2008 survey found that less than 15% of Australians eat kangaroo no more than four times a year and only 50% had even tried it. I can attest to this first hand. Most of our friends and family do not eat kangaroo. Aside from indigenous Australians who have been eating it for thousands of years, it’s a relatively new option in the Australian diet and nationally first became legal for human consumption in 1993. Maybe it’s the thought of eating a national (rather adorable) icon or concerns expressed by animal welfare advocates that don’t agree with the culling of a wild animal or environmentalists who say it will disrupt the ecosystem.

With that being said, you don’t hear much of a fuss about people culling kangaroos; when it’s done humanely of course. Kangaroos are sometimes seen as a pest and many Australians would be lucky to make it a lifetime without destroying one with their car…or should I say, it destroying their car. I once witnessed a suffering, recently hit kangaroo on the side of the road, and based on my personal experience, humane culling would be a much better way to go. Besides, the commercial kangaroo industry is government regulated with a 2010 culling quota of just over 4 million and an estimated total population somewhere around 35 million. Keep in mind Australia’s human population is only 22 million. You do the math.

I suppose asking people to add deer to their grocery list in the US would elicit a similar response, or should I say lack their of. People are happy to stick to their staple chicken, beef, chicken, fish, chicken, pork diet, or sometimes, no meat at all. But, I have to say, I don’t mind adding a marsupial to the menu from time to time.

In case you’d like to learn more, I found the following links particularly interesting:

Eating kangaroos could reduce emissions

Commercial kangaroo harvest quotas

Eating kangaroo - the real Aussie meat

Ripe for the Pickin'

When Shane and I moved into our rental home three months ago (in fact our third rental home in 17 months) it ticked most boxes. Great proximity to city and beach – big tick for all! Large garage for Shane and his toys – big tick for some. Backyard for Bronson and his massive dumps – he has no idea how spoiled he is tick.

Finding a house in suburban Perth with a yard much bigger than the bathroom can be a challenge but we managed to find one with a yard larger than the home itself. Size aside, it’s rather barren and actually quite dull but not nearly as dull as the “wet areas” aka kitchen and bathroom (now you know who didn’t get to tick any boxes in this process).

Last week while looking out the window of our sad kitchen I noticed Bronson all flustered in the backyard. Something had distracted him from his usual sunbathing and poo sniffing and it was birds. This wasn’t the first time in recent days that he had protected his territory from menacing pigeons and magpies, chasing them along the fence until they moved onto the next yard.

The main feature of this animal show lie in the far corner of the yard - all by its lonesome amongst Bronson’s landmines and dead patches of grass beholds a tree of one of Western Australia’s most precious fruits - the olive. Lucky for me, because I love the damn things. The rogue backyard olive tree in these parts of the country is not entirely unusual. We had a couple olive trees at our last house but I never really gave them a second look. It’s autumn which means olive picking season, the olives are ripe and falling from the tree therefore attracting the attention of Bronson’s winged adversaries. Wait. We have an olive tree. The olives are ripe. I’m letting the birds get first pick. My newfound interest in agriculture told me to take advantage of this situation.

We have a couple friends with olive farms, both of them about a 3 hours drive south of Perth. Last year we helped out at one of these farms the day after an 80’s themed party at the other farm (but that’s a whole other story). Our hangovers, and the innate desire to just get home on a Sunday afternoon after a weekend away, prevented us from being much help. However, my boozy brain did absorb a couple facts about olives. Although there are different varieties of olives, it’s not based on color. A green olive is just an olive that isn’t yet ripe. Once it’s ripe it goes black (or purple) and in order to eat it, it must first be fermented to get rid of its naturally bitter taste. Also, the first press of an olive is extra virgin olive oil and subsequent presses are just plain olive oil, essentially.

Recalling last year’s lesson in olives I decided to ask one of these olive farm friends for advice on how I can get my olives from the tree to my mouth. In order to protect his privacy I’ll refrain from using his real name and will refer to him as Munch. Over Skype chat Munch told me to put the olives in a container filled with brine (which is a water consisting of 10% salt) and store them in a cool place such as the garage. Top up the brine weekly and you’ll have edible olives in, oh, about 2 months. What! Two months?! Despite the time factor, I was game.

On Sunday Shane went to the footy with his dad and I picked olives. With a plastic food container in hand and Labrador defender of the olive by my side, I went out for the first batch, slowly picking olives by the handful. Up to this point, Bronson had neglected to take cue from the birds and eat the olives himself. But, like a small child, he mimics his parent’s every move and seeing me take interest in the tree peaked his curiosity to what lie on the ground beneath it. No is not a word in his vocabulary and I wasn’t about to spend my peaceful olive picking time prying olives from his massive snout so I just let it go. Besides, isn’t he supposed to possess this canine instinct that tells him what plants of nature are edible and which are poisonous?

During the final batch, I went outside to gather up a few more olives. Between the kitchen and the back door I nearly walked into a regurgitated mess of olives. Bronson must have heard my WTF! and appeared looking at me like, “oh yeah, forgot to tell you about that.” If he’s lucky, he’ll get a taste of the real way olives are meant to be eaten…but he’ll have to wait another 6-8 weeks to find out.

standing tall and proud

on the tree

sampling the produce

off to be fermented