Author of The Joy of Jams, Jellies, and Other Sweet Preserves and The Joy of Pickling, Linda Ziedrich likes to cook with every sort of food she can grow in Scio, Oregon.
Even as I was curing olives for the first time, in 2009, I knew I’d do it differently in 2010. Cured olives, like breads and wines, are wonderful partly for their variety. I love them green or black, big or little, salty or shriveled, bitter, sour, herbed, or oiled. Both ripeness and curing method, I knew, determined a cured olive’s look and taste. But how much difference did the olive cultivar make? I wasn’t sure.
The olives I ordered in 2009, from M&CP Farms of Orland, California, were green Sevillanos, which grow as large as an inch across and have firm flesh that you must chew off the pit. They were delicious both lye-cured and long-brined. But when M&CP offered another variety, Lucques, in 2010, I ordered them without hesitation.
As soon as I slit open the box the FedEx man brought me, I knew I’d never confuse Lucques olives with Sevillanos. Whereas the Sevillano olive is oval, the Lucques is long, slender, and slightly crescent-shaped, with a pointed tip. The unripe Sevillano is pale green, but the unripe Lucques is bright green, like a Gravenstein apple.
Although the Lucques probably originated in Italy, the variety is an old favorite in the southern French region of Languedoc, especially around a village called Saint Jean de la Blaquière, where in the 1990s the local co-op cured 200 tons per year. Although Saint Jean’s olives are now cured in nearby Clermont-l’Herault, St. Jean still hosts the annual Fête de la Lucques.
Each autumn, all of France awaits the cured green Lucques olives, beloved for their light, nutty, sweet taste; their meaty flesh, which comes away easily from the pit; and their color, which remains bright green even after curing. Most of the olives are available just a few weeks after the September picking, because they are treated with lye, which quickly eliminates all bitterness.
Unsure how best to cure my Lucques olives, I managed to track down two recipes from Saint Jean de la Blaquière: one for the standard commercial cure, with lye, and one for the family-style long-brine method. I cured a gallon each way.
The lye-cured olives were ready less than three weeks later. They were indeed sweet and nutty and mild, and they were so good that they were gone in a month. I’d used no herbs or garlic, and nobody missed these embellishments. With only salt to enhance their flavor, the olives were irresistible.
A second gallon of Lucques olives got the slow cure: a fresh-water soak, with frequent changes, for 15 days, followed by immersion in a light brine for four days and a medium-strong brine thereafter. These olives are still sitting in salt water, again without flavorings, in a warm closet. They are bitter, but every time I taste one, it’s less bitter than the last.
By the first of April, I predict, my family will start on our second fête de la Lucques. I can hardly wait.
Culinate editor’s note: This post also appeared on Linda Ziedrich’s blog, A Gardener's Table.
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