Olive, the Other Reindeer?

When you buy a beer at a bar in Spain they usually give you something to go with it - olives are favourite. In fact olives are everywhere in Spain. They come in salads, they grow in the fields beside the road, they get milled over the road in Culebrón village and we always cook with olive oil as well as using it for dressing on salad.

I needed olives and beef for the recipe. We only had black olives in the cupboard so I added green olives to my shopping list.

When I got to the shelf with the olives I found black olives, olives stuffed with anchovies, olives stuffed with jalapeño pepper, olives stuffed with red pepper and even a variety made to look like a monster sperm by shoving a small gherkin into the hole where the stone had been drilled out. There were also the manzanilla ones.

Now manzanilla is an interesting word. If you're in Sanlucar de Barrameda it's the local dry sherry. I prefer it to the similar fino sherry produced in nearby Jerez de la Frontera though both are rather splendid. Manzanilla is also camomile or camomile tea; once, in Vigo, in a bar, we asked if they had manzanilla. We were delighted when they said yes and mightily disappointed when the anticipated crisp cool dry white wine appeared and was some sort of nerve tonic tea.

Alongside the other olives were lots of Manzanilla olives. I'd always presumed they were sherry soused. I sniggered to myself as I searched the shelves. Imagine that, a country loaded with olives and no olive flavoured olives to be bought. I asked a passing shop worker and she pointed to the Manzanilla ones. "But aren't they flavoured with wine?," I asked. "No, manzanilla is a variety of olive," she replied.

I felt stupid. Something so simple and something that has taken me fifteen years to discover