Is there such a thing as olive overdose?
I hope not, but if there is, I’m probably going to experience it in about 30 seconds.
I’ve already eaten at least a half dozen of these green Cerignola olives, which doesn’t sound like a lot — six olives?! ooo, big deal six olives… — but it is a lot because each olive is the size of a small child’s head.
And now I feel weird about myself, sounding all cannibalistic and head-hunter-y.
I was introduced to this type of olive at a winemaker dinner last summer and have since been obsessed. Their size and bright, glittering green color get your attention and make them a little intimidating, but the olives have a mild flavor which, along with their fleshiness (what a word!) and size, reminds you that olives are, indeed, a fruit and not just some sort of condiment on the side. Maybe that’s why I keep eating them. I feel like I’m eating small, salty green plums.
These particular olives are from the Bristol Farms’ olive bar. At $9.99/pound, you best believe I didn’t get a drop of olive juice that would add to already gluttonous weight inside a pint container. If I’d had a cordless portable hair dryer in my purse, I would have given those suckers a bone-dry blow-out.
The small child’s head analogy is starting to scare me now.
I’m trying to “practice” blogging before my big trip next week. And by “practice blogging,” I actually mean “how about just fucking starting again? How about just writing your first real post in over a year-and-a-half that has actual sentences grouped into actual paragraphs, and not just captions to pictures? Huh? How about that?”
So here it is. Starting. Blogging.
With big, fat green Cerignola olives.