Olive picking in Provence.... Can't believe I am even writing that. Today was exceptional. And like most exceptional things, it was not easy to come by...
I had found Les Pastras Farm and their olive picking and truffle hunting excursions on multiple websites for best activities to do around this area. A little digging and it turns out that Johann and Lisa Penin are a French/American couple who used to work and live in Chicago before giving up their corporate careers to return to Johann's grandfather's farm in the hills of Provence about 10 years ago. Their farm is small, about 28 acres, but has olive trees that Johann says are hundreds and hundreds of years old. They also have a small amount of grapes and a growing number of "Truffle trees, which are really oak or a similar type that have been inoculated with truffle spores and then planted. It takes 7-10 years to then harvest any truffles and only about 25% of the inoculated trees actually end up producing. (That's why truffles or "black gold" are so expensive!) We are a little early for the winter truffle hunting experience and just past the prime grape harvest, but mid-November is the prime season for olive picking, and what better way to experience authentic Provencial culture!
Turns out, it was actually a little more difficult to participate than it seemed... Johann and I exchanged multiple emails the last few days and he suggested I use what most of their guests do: a chauffeur guided trip in a private vehicle. Minimum cost for this though was 150 Euro (just for the transportation to the farm and back - its about 30 minutes from Aix). It was just too much money for me though and I felt sure i could figure out a way to get there more cheaply. (Gosh, I just realized how much my father's daughter I am) Turns out, as I don't have a carseat for Forrest here, the chauffer didn't want to take me anyway. Instead, I found a bus route that would take me to the small village of Cadenet for just 2 euro. Their farm is only 2-3 km from the center of the village and I was sure I could either walk or find a taxi, so I decided to just try it and see what would happen. Forrest loves the busses here, so the roundabout, multiple stop, hour ride this morning didn't phase him, plus we saw all sorts of beautiful country. Meanwhile, I was trying to call taxi services to pick me up in Cadenet. I think both my request and my extremely broken french were a turn-off, so the multiple people I talked to finally just said, "no, we are sorry, we don't do that." Great. The bus driver didn't really understand what I was doing or which stop I wanted to be dropped at, so we were all the way through Cadenet and on the other side before I figured out we needed to get off. The three people on the bus tried to point me in basically the right direction, but all really had no idea where I was trying to go or why the heck I, in my present state, was trying to get there at all. At this point, I may have started to sweat and was for sure doubting I could get to the farm at all. But, at the very least, I knew we could just wander around Cadenet and then catch a bus back to Aix.
So Forrest and I walked a block or two back into town and found a restaurant just opening for the day where I asked if I could request a taxi to take me to a little farm up the way. The owners inside were a wonderful couple who spoke English and really wanted to help. They also happened to know the Pepins, who apparently frequent their restaurant a lot. They tried calling for a taxi with no luck either and then insisted on driving me themselves as the husband had to go to the grocery that direction anyway. Now, lest you, my wonderful readers, think I just hop in random strangers' cars at every turn - rest assured, I don't. This, for a number of reasons, was an exception.
Forrest and I finally arrived at Les Pastras Farm significantly after my scheduled 10:30am start time and a nice farmhand showed us where the rest of the group was in the olive grove down the hill. I think Johann was about as shocked to see me and Forrest as we were to have made it.
Johann Pepin describing how one prunes an olive tree for optimum sun, wind, and pollination.
The fog had all burned off and it was a perfect Indian summer kind of day with not a cloud in the sky. There was about 8 or 9 in our group and Johann taught us all about olive growing and harvesting, about his organic farming practices and the small but amazing quality of olive oil he produces. We picked and talked and of course, Forrest was a hit. He turned out to be quite good at picking, and it only took one taste to convince him these were for the bucket and not his mouth. Olives right from the tree taste NOTHING like the black or green ones we eat! He also was the youngest picker Les Pastras had ever had. :) Afterwards, we feasted on Les Pastras olive oil, wine, fresh bread and cheeses, as well as truffle oil and truffle salt.
The farm and the countryside were postcard picture perfect. It really does look like what you would imagine Provence to be. I wish my pictures did the views better justice. Rolling hillsides dotted with the golden leaves of grape vines in the fall, magnificently towering oaks lining the undulating country lanes, chateau-type homes nestled into the hills and flanked by all the splendour of the Provencial views. I have been to the French Alps, which are stunning indeed, but if I were to ever move to France, I think it would be to Provence.
Nice picking bud!
I think this was right after he tried to eat one....wasn't going to open his mouth again!
Green olives have the most flavor, the purple start to become soft and don't add much to the oil, but Johann presses them all anyway as there are so few purple. We hauled in a lot more than this, don't worry.
All together, we picked about 25 kilograms of olives in just a short time. All of Johann's trees are picked by hand so as not to damage the olive which causes the oil to become rancid.
A row of baby oak trees which have all been inoculated with truffle spores. If the spores are active, the ground right beneath the tree becomes bare, like the one in the foreground. They don't cut any grass around the trees in order to tell which will produce.
Their home... when he asked if anyone needed a restroom I jumped at the chance to see inside... the most beautiful, obviously authentic, rustic French-country home you can imagine.
Yes, it was as good as it looks.
All local cheeses and pate... Forrest wasn't even tempted, while I simply died of ectasy, but little man actually loved the truffle oil and salt!
(....I hesitate to even go here, but I know I am probably getting some raised eyebrows given my current "expectant" state. I guarantee you though, sampling a little authentic french wine and soft cheese did not hurt baby girl one little bit...she's literally kicking me as I type this probably wanting more.)