oil out. You will not see this today. But you will come back for this, too. There is nothing more delicious than fresh oil!”
Sally was insistent on the details, though. “How does it get into the bottles from these straw things?”
“The oil drips down the sides of the stack into a tank and a centrifuge spins the water out and then it is bottled. Never store your oil in anything plastic, by the way. I can’t remember what they are called in English, but it will affect the flavor and also may be bad for us.”
“PVCs, polyvinyl chlorides,” Faith called from the back. “Both things are true—bad for taste and for health. What isn’t true is that you have to store olive oil in the fridge. I keep mine in a cupboard, away from light and heat. I only buy E-V-O-O that’s dated, and although I’ve never kept any this long, unopened it’s fine for two or even a bit more years.”
“Faith is right,” Francesca said. “We use a dark green bottle like most growers to protect the oil from sunlight. For cooking, I keep a virgin-grade oil and I buy it in gallon tin containers. I transfer what I need into a smaller glass or ceramic one.”
“We’re here!” Gianni cried, swiftly pulling in next to what looked like an oversize garage. Faith had expected something with more character, but that came when they entered the building.
Two men got up from the lawn chairs set up next to a Rube Goldbergian–looking machine where they had obviously been waiting for them. They were both young, both very good-looking, and it soon became apparent, both fluent in English.
“Welcome, American and English people! Welcome to our frantoio! I am Sandro, like Sandro Botticelli, except I cannot paint, and this is my partner, Maurizio, like Maurizio Pollini, except he cannot play the piano, just what do you call it, ‘Chopsticks.’ I have so much English because I was one summer in Nebraska picking corn.”
With a flourish he grabbed the nearest person—it was Jack—shook hands, and then much to Jack’s surprise kissed him on both cheeks.
“You must excuse him. He is alone with only me too much,” Maurizio said. “Come. This is a slow time in the olio business. Of course we find much to do, but compared to the fall . . .” He rubbed the side of his face, the universal hand gesture for extreme boredom. “Your visit is a blessing.”
The tour expanded the Rossis’ information, and there was no question about enjoying the mode of delivery. Faith hadn’t laughed so much in years, let alone on the trip. The two men were definitely what the Italians call personaggi.
“We use hemp for the mats,” Maurizio said. “And I try to keep Sandro from smoking them. We do not weave them ourselves. We would like our mothers to do this, but they are modern women and have important jobs. Mine is a lawyer, which she says she chose as soon as I was born because she had the feeling I would need her services sooner or later. My papa is an accountant. Botticelli’s namesake over there has two high-powered parents; journalists in Milano.”
“Enough,” Sandro said. “It’s time for them to judge whether our oil is as appetizing as we are.”
They had set up the tasting outdoors under a large oak on a picnic table covered with a checked cloth. Chairs had been scrounged from the house, which Faith saw was an old farmhouse farther down the road.
“It is like a wine tasting. But better,” Sandro instructed once they were seated. “I will give you a taste in these glasses. Smell first. Inhale deeply. Three or four times. Closing your eyes is good. Then a tiny sip, swish it around your mouth. Swallow, or spit it out on the grass if you must, but then wait, drink some water, and try the other two. You are going from last year’s harvest, the newest, to oldest. See which you like best. Then we will have some wine and you will be our best friends forever, isn’t that what you say?”
Faith already was beginning to think of these two charming men as her BFFs, and after she tasted the oil they were producing, she knew they would also be her suppliers for small quantities to use in special dishes. She’d order some oil now and some in the fall.
The afternoon was stretching out lazily. Everyone was happy and relaxed. Even Olivia was smiling and asking Sandro questions