Olivada

I’ll set the scene: you’re at a party full of acquaintances.   You’re supposed to act like a human and make eye contact and conversation with the host and the other guests.  You’re dressed in non-stomach-expandy clothes.  It’s expected that you will be judicious about how much you eat.
But small bites of food are malingering on a table on the other side of the room, whizzing by your head on lofted trays, or–worst of all–lying in a seductive array in the middle of your social circle.  This is torture; the food is definitely more attention-grabbing than the small talk.  There are four approaches to this situation, and I’ve tried them all.
1. Lion – eat as much as you can at the beginning, then sleep it off
2. Squirrel – load up your plate and store for later (bonus points if you hide the food somewhere)
3. Pigeon – repeatedly peck at the food
4. East Germany – divide out territories.  eat any potential defectors
At the end of a gathering, you’re likely to find me with glazed eyes and guacamole in my hair, mumbling something about the weather.
Appetizers only work out with the right people.  At home, dinner is occasionally composed of small plates.  And as the family member expected to set the low bar in social graces, I can end up with the last 1 or 2 pieces of toast slathered with this spread.
This is basically a pesto with olives instead of basil.  If you don’t like olives, try sun-dried tomatoes.  Anything that has a bit of a sour taste.


Ingredients
  • 1 can of large pitted black olives or a cup (and change) of kalamata olives
  • 3-4 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped
  • 1 big handful of walnuts
  • 1 handful of grated parmesan
  • some olive oil on hand (no more than a few Tbsp)
  • salt (no more than 2 tsp)
  • pepper
Use your best judgement when making this.  Start with the olives, garlic, walnuts, and parmesan and whir in the food processor.  Add the olive oil at a slow drizzle until you reach a spread consistency.  Your paste actually should look more like TV snow than the matte grey in my picture (I tried using sunflower seeds instead).  Add salt and pepper a little at a time, whir some more, taste it, and adjust as necessary.  The end effect is an olive spread, with a tangy flavor and a slightly grainy texture.  Serve on toast (sliced sandwich loaf for a snack, sliced baguette for a party).  It tastes better the next day.
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11 Responses to Olivada

  1. Hannah says:

    this was very tasty! i definitely wolfed a ton down during the lotr marathon…

  2. Anita says:

    That made me so happy :D. I’ll try to nail down a more concrete recipe soon.

  3. Vijay says:

    I love olivada. It is tasty and guilt free. I can eat it just with spoon to avoid gorging on bread. I loved the story line, it was like living vicariously.

  4. Vijay says:

    Great recipe choice and a very realistic story line.

  5. Pingback: We’re moving up in the world… | Braised Anatomy

  6. JehanP says:

    Yum, I love this combination. It’s very flavorful.

  7. I love that first photo! Excellently styled!

    and, I really have to try #2. Never thought of hiding a plate for later use! 🙂

    • Anita says:

      #2 is can be both a useful strategy and an unpleasant gift for the poor host who finds deviled eggs in the medicine cabinet three weeks later. 🙂 Thanks for looking Steph!

  8. Steph says:

    just made this and it’s delicious. also, did you mean to write that small bites of food are “malingering” or is that some medicine creeping in? (or is that a real word outside of medicine? I once probably knew but now I forget!)

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