Freshly pressed olive oil is magical

The fragrance of brand-new olive oil is unmistakable. If you’ve ever experienced it, you’ll recognize it instantly ever after. When the oil is fresh from the press, it’s as intense and all-pervasive as the aroma of white truffles, as penetrating as that of fir balsam, as seductive as the smell of June roses lingering in the nose for days after the blooms themselves have faded.

The best time and place to experience that extraordinary perfume in its fullest impact is at the olive mill — the frantoio, as it’s called in Italy — at the moment newly harvested olives are crushed into oil. Second best is a bottle of fresh, new-season oil, coming into U.S. markets in February and March — i.e., right now — from Italy, Spain, Greece and, to a lesser extent, France, California and other parts of the olive oil world.

Describing that fragrance to those who don’t know it is another matter. It’s a little green-fruity, like the olives themselves that, ideally, are not fully ripened but just on the verge. It’s the smell of freshly cut grass. Or of tomato leaves crushed between the fingers. Perhaps it’s a little nutty (almonds? hazelnuts?) or a little citrusy (lemon maybe?), or it has a little fragrance of green apples, or maybe apricots? It’s a complex aroma, for sure, and all that complexity makes up a large part of the oil’s flavor as well. So if the aroma of the extra-virgin in your pantry doesn’t reflect that complexity, the flavor won’t, either, and it’s a good time to reinvest.

I know this because I experience that aroma and flavor every year in October, when I go back with family and friends to harvest olives and make oil on what we cheerfully call the family estate in Tuscany. Don’t, please, imagine a centuries-old villa in a park of cypresses with faithful retainers in attendance and generations of family portraits in the hall. Ours is an old stone farmhouse, somewhat ineptly restored, on 25 acres of steep, rocky land in the forested mountains between Tuscany and Umbria, a mile or so down a dusty cart track from a poorly maintained local highway and a hamlet that consists of a church, a shuttered community building and a shop that is sometimes open but more often not. Oh, and the farmhouse roof leaks.

In brief, there is nothing romantic about this place except for what emerges from the 150 olive trees that I planted some years ago, against all local advice. Those trees now produce annually 60 or 70 liters of fresh, new oil with its extraordinary aroma.

There is romance, for certain, in the old-fashioned but time-honored way we harvest our ripening olives: by hand, one by one, piling them in baskets and plastic bins, and trucking them off to the local mill to be crushed into fragrant oil. There is romance, too, in late spring when tiny olive blossoms, pale and almost imperceptible, start to flower, and in summer when we watch anxiously for signs of the olive fly or some other malefactor threatening the hard little green fruits on the trees. Even in winter, when the trees are bare of fruit and the tramontana, a chill north wind, whips the branches and turns the leaves silver in slashing rain — even then, there is something romantic about an olive grove like ours.

I did not know that when I had the trees planted. I was simply struggling to keep the land around the farmhouse cleared of the brambles and scrub oak that threatened to overwhelm our terraced fields. The neighbors all said planting olives was a mistake: They would never thrive at this altitude (above 600 meters), and, besides, wild boar would knock them over. Now, each year when I come back, I find that more of those skeptics have planted olives on their own lands. Put it down to climate change, if you will, but it appears that our mountain valley has become an ideal spot for the kind of olives that make high-quality extra-virgin oil.

In the kitchen, at the dining table, high-quality oils like the one we produce add delight and satisfaction to any dish: a simple green salad, a pasta sauce or a dessert cake or torte. But there’s more to it than romance. The flavors and aromas are also indications of what makes extra-virgin a cornerstone of a healthful Mediterranean diet and one of the best fats to use in cooking: They signify the presence of polyphenols, most of which are health-building antioxidants that help reduce inflammation, strengthen the immune system and defend against heart disease, cancers, diabetes, even age-related cognitive decline.

Study after study, in Greece, in Spain and here in the United States, has provided solid evidence of that, even when precisely how it happens is not always well understood. One of the most consistently cited investigations grows out of an ongoing series of trials called Predimed (Prevenci?n con Dieta Mediterr?nea), summarized in the New England Journal of Medicine. That study concluded that following a Mediterranean diet, supplemented with extra-virgin olive oil or nuts, resulted in a substantial reduction in “the risk of major cardiovascular events.”

When I first started to get interested in olive oil, in the early 1990s, this was not well-known. Olive oil, we were told then, is good for you because it’s primarily a monounsaturated fat, consumption of which reduces dangerous LDL chocolesterol and maintains or even boosts HDL, the “good” cholesterol. But with more research, it became apparent that there were all sorts of other things going on apart from the fat structure.

Extra-virgin olive oil is a unique product because, unlike regular olive oil (sometimes called “pure olive oil”), it is unrefined and retains all those polyphenols that are available in the raw fruit. Regular and “light” olive oils have had the aromas and flavors stripped away to stabilize the product. It stands to reason that the fresher the extra-virgin, the more fragrance and flavor it carries, the more polyphenols come along for the ride.

And that’s what we were smelling and tasting last October at Massimo Landi’s frantoio on the Arezzo highway just north of Cortona, as we watched our glossy leccino olives get transformed into dazzling jade-colored oil. All our workers were assembled for the occasion: two American chefs and one Italian, an Italian photographer, six visiting Americans and two small, energetic children.

We had spent four days reaching, stretching, bending, in the relentless task of picking olives by hand, getting into the trees at the crack of dawn, collapsing when darkness fell, the day relieved by pauses for coffee, bread and cheese, wine, pastries, anything that kept us going. It’s an arduous task to get the olives to the mill as rapidly as possible, before the oil that swells them starts to degenerate. Big producers aim to do that within hours. We find it takes us at least three days — if the weather cooperates.

To my mind, the speed with which olives are transformed into oil is one of the critical points for producing the highest quality. Almost equally important is cleanliness, both in the mill and in the post-milling treatment of the oil. Extra-virgin is a fragile commodity; any exposure to light or heat will start an inexorable progress toward rancidity. (That is why consumers are constantly warned to buy oil in dark glass bottles and to keep fine oils away from the kitchen’s light and heat.)

As the green oil flowed into our fusti (stainless-steel tins in which we transport it), we licked it off our fingers, dipped in plastic spoons, and then rushed it home to serve it up on the most glorious of new-oil treats: bruschetta. This is what the Florentines call the fettunta, the anointed slice: crusty unsalted Tuscan bread, toasted over a wood fire, then rubbed lightly with a cut clove of garlic, liberally doused in the new oil and gently sprinkled with salt.

Then we trooped over the fields to our neighbors, the Antolinis, to celebrate with a feast of the new harvest — more bruschette with many different toppings, Maura Antolini’s superb pasta al forno (a.k.a. lasagna), rabbits, pigeons, a shoulder of pork, and chickens from the family courtyard where the birds scratch and grub — all roasted in the wood-fired bread oven built into the house wall more than a century ago. And finally a superb crostata, an open-faced tart, made with apricots from trees along the garden edge, fruit that in its fragrance and flavor recalled the olive oil we had just brought home.

The fact is, 2016 was not an exceptional harvest on our hilltop farm. Like many fruit trees, olives tend to produce more in alternate years, and last year was clearly an off one. We took to the frantoio a little more than four quintales (that’s less than half a ton) of olives; the yield in the end was about 10 percent, so we went home with just under 50 liters of oil.

But what fabulous oil it was! Every year, we admit, is better than the year before. Will we ever reach perfection? Not in this lifetime, perhaps, but we keep trying.

Crispy Fried Fish With Neapolitan Red Sauce (Salsa Rossa)

4-6 servings.

Of course you won’t use your finest estate-bottled extra-virgin to fry fish, but plenty of good-quality extra-virgins are suitable. According to olive oil expert Nancy Harmon Jenkins, the smoke point of extra-virgin olive oil is above, “sometimes well above,” 400 degrees. (This recipe calls for a temperature point of 365 degrees.)

Look for a California or Greek oil; those are widely available, usually at an acceptable price.

You could use the oil a second time, first straining it carefully, but it will inevitably taste of fish, so it should be reused only once for frying seafood and then discarded. You’ll need an instant-read thermometer.

The tomato sauce is a Neapolitan tradition to go with fried fish. A basic all-purpose sauce, it can be served as is or gussied up with chopped capers, anchovies, maybe chopped black olives or fresh green herbs in season. Any leftovers can dress a little pasta or pizza or add a touch of color to vegetable minestrone.

Of course, you can also serve the crispy fried fish without the sauce, perhaps with wedges of lemon to squeeze over.

Make Ahead: The batter needs to rest at room temperature for 2 hours. The tomato sauce can be refrigerated a day or two in advance; reheat just before serving.

From cookbook author and food writer Nancy Harmon Jenkins.

FOR THE FISH:

1½ cups (12 ounces) medium-body pale ale or beer, or plain seltzer water

2 cups flour, preferably unbleached all-purpose

1½ tablespoons sea salt, or more as needed

3 tablespoons plus about 3 cups extra-virgin olive oil

1 large egg white

Finely grated zest of 1 lemon, preferably an organic one

2 pounds skinless fish fillets, such as cod, haddock, halibut, snapper or similar

FOR THE SAUCE:

2 or 3 cloves garlic, sliced very thin or chopped

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

One 28-ounce can whole San Marzano tomatoes with their juices, chopped, or 4 pounds fresh tomatoes, cut into chunks

Sea salt

Pinch ground red chili pepper

½ teaspoon sugar

For the fish: Pour the beer or seltzer into a mixing bowl. Use a flour sifter and a wire whisk to gradually sift and whisk in 1 cup of the flour, whisking constantly until smooth. Gradually whisk in the salt and 3 tablespoons of oil, then sift and whisk in the remaining flour to form a batter with the consistency of heavy cream. (You might not need to use all the flour.) Cover the bowl with plastic wrap; let it rest for 2 hours at room temperature.

Meanwhile, make the tomato sauce: Cook the garlic in the oil in a heavy saucepan over medium-low heat until the garlic starts to soften; do not let it brown. Add the tomatoes and their juices, a good pinch of salt, the chili pepper and the sugar; increase the heat to medium and cook rapidly, stirring the tomatoes and further breaking them up. They should cook down and thicken in 15 or 20 minutes; fresh tomatoes will take longer than canned ones. Watch carefully toward the end to make sure the sauce doesn’t scorch.

If using fresh tomatoes, put the sauce through the medium disk of a food mill. If using canned tomatoes, put them in a blender or food processor and pulse to a coarse consistency, with plenty of texture. If the sauce is too thin, put it back on medium-low heat and cook longer, stirring, until it has reached a thick, saucy consistency. The yield is about 2½ cups. If you’re not using the sauce right away, transfer to a container, cover and refrigerate (for up to 2 days).

Back to the fish: Whisk the egg white in a medium bowl until it is quite stiff, then fold in the grated lemon zest. Add it to the rested, thickened batter and gently fold it in until thoroughly incorporated.

Cut the fish into chunks about 2 inches square — but don’t be too fiddly about this. Pat the chunks dry with paper towels.

When ready to cook, pour the remaining 3 cups of oil into a pan deep enough for frying. You should have at least 2 inches of oil in the bottom of the pan. Set it over medium heat; heat the oil to 360 to 365 degrees. It’s very important to get the oil up to the correct temperature before attempting to fry, so monitor the temperature with an instant-read thermometer.

(If you do not have a thermometer, test the oil by adding a little cube of bread when you think it’s ready. If the cube sizzles immediately and starts to turn golden in less than 1 minute, the oil is hot enough. But a thermometer is more certain.)

Line a baking sheet with paper towels and set a wire cooling rack over it. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees (to keep the fish warm while you fry in batches).

Once the oil is hot enough, pat the fish pieces dry once again. Drop a bit of batter into the oil and fry briefly until golden brown and crisped, then use tongs or a Chinese skimmer to transfer it to the rack to cool. Taste, and if the batter could use another pinch of salt, stir it in before you start coating the fish.

Dip a piece of fish into the batter to coat it, let excess batter drain off, then drop the fish into the hot oil. Continue with more fish pieces, but don’t crowd the pan. Let the pieces bubble and sizzle in the oil, turning them so they brown on all sides, turning golden and crisp; this should take about 4 minutes. Keep testing the oil with your thermometer; if it drops below 350 degrees, stop frying and wait for the oil to heat up again. Similarly, if the oil gets too hot, it will burn the fish without cooking it through; if that happens, remove the pan from the heat and let it cool back down.

As the fish pieces finish frying, transfer them with a slotted spoon and set on the rack to drain, then transfer to the warm oven until you’ve finished frying all the fish.

Sprinkle with a little more salt and serve right away, passing the warm tomato sauce.

Nutrition, Ingredients are too variable for a meaningful analysis.

Red Wine and Radicchio Risotto

8 first-course or 4 to 6 main-course servings.

From Nancy Harmon Jenkins.

4 cups homemade or no-salt-added chicken broth

1 medium red onion, finely chopped (1 cup)

¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus a little more for drizzling

2 links fresh sweet Italian sausage, casings removed (4 to 5½ ounces total)

2 packed cups chopped or slivered radicchio (from 1 medium head, cored)

2 cups risotto rice, such as vialone nano, carnaroli or arborio (about 13 ounces total)

Sea salt

Freshly ground black pepper

2 cups full-bodied dry red wine

1 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

Heat the broth in a saucepan over medium heat; once it begins to bubble at the edges, reduce the heat to medium-low.

Combine the chopped onion and oil in a large, heavy saucepan over medium-low heat; cook just until the onion starts to soften.

Meanwhile, break up the sausage meat into small bits and add to the onion, stirring to incorporate. Cook for about 5 minutes, until the bits of meat have lost their raw look. Stir in half of the radicchio.

Once that radicchio has wilted, stir in the rice. Season lightly with salt and pepper; increase the heat to medium and cook, stirring, until the rice grains are thoroughly coated with fat and are turning opaque. Add a cup of the wine, stirring until it is absorbed by the rice, then add the remaining wine, stirring. Let the wine cook until it loses its alcohol fragrance; with your nose close to the pan, you should smell the sausage more than the wine.

Now start to add the hot broth, a half-cup at a time, stirring it in each time and waiting for each addition to be absorbed before adding more. As the rice starts to expand, you can increase the amount of broth in subsequent additions. Don’t let the rice dry out at any point: It should always have a slightly creamy, soupy consistency. Keep adding broth until the rice is done; you might not need to use all that liquid. The grains will still be separate and slightly resistant to the bite but bathed in a thick, fragrant sauce.

At this point, remove the pan from the heat and quickly stir in the remaining radicchio. Finally, stir in the grated Parmigiano-Reggiano. Cover and let rest for about 10 minutes, then serve right away, garnishing each serving with a thin thread of oil.

Nutrition, calories per serving (based on 8): 430, total fat: 16g, saturated fat: 5g, cholesterol: 20mg, sodium: 400mg, total carbohydrates: 48g, dietary fiber: 1g, sugar: 2g, protein: 14g