Olives and I have a tumultuous history. When I was little, I loved them more than any small child should. I ate my parents' boozy martini olives. I used to eat kalamatas straight out of the container. I loved them so much that I ate an entire container of them and it didn't end well. I couldn't bring myself to eat one for years after that. I must have been about 18 when I allowed these briney purple wonders back into my life, and boy did I ever. The intense love for them that I had as a child returned in full force. There is just something about them - their saltiness, their tang, their meaty texture... they taste like nothing else. I can't think of anything more quintessentially exotic in flavour than a kalamata olive.
