Love and oil

After wandering through the market at Camucia, most of the ladies did no more than stop at a bright yellow concrete house to pump one of the best kept secrets, Cortonese Chianti, from the tank in the corner into a bag in a box before the went home for the afternoon to eat just a little bit more, and fall asleep in the sun.
You have to rest somewhere between olive groves and pastry class and Montepulciano and Perugia. It is hard work tasting olive oil, and we wanted to prepare.
You know how I feel about olive oil. Like love. You might fall for someone who might not smell that great or make you laugh but works hard and will last you forever, or you can nearly be able to catch your breath from the natural aroma of their skin, and life feels pumped back into you at the sight of them, and at the same time that you want to savor, you only want more.
It is true that you can get extra virgin olive oil for four dollars a gallon at Mr. Amazing, and it will grease the bottom of the pan until the cows come home and knit themselves a sweater.
But see if you can’t pour yourself a drop of olive oil, made from olives picked from breezy green hills at the perfect point, handled like a newborn, and pressed practically within minutes to taste the fresh cut grass and fruit of the olive.
It can be hard to find. But so is love, and once you know it, there is no going back.

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