Sebastian Bariani Photos by Aniko Kiezel
Well Oiled M
y first encounter with Bariani Olive Oil was my first encounter with California olive oil. Roaming the Berkeley Farmers Market, I found the Bariani stall and took my first oil shot, delivered by one of the brothers who grew the olives and pressed the oil. The oil coated my mouth in a grassy fattiness, soothed my throat and sank into my belly.
GM By Gabrielle Myers Farm to Fork
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POC MAR n 22
Four decades ago in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., the only olive oil available to me was mild, light and imported from Italy and Spain. In California, I savor a drizzle of amber green oil pressed from olives a few miles from where I cook. This oil makes leafy greens and grilled fish or meats sing complex songs. A citrus salad of blood orange and Oro Blanco grapefruit transforms itself with the round herbaceous hit of olive oil’s unctuous drops. As I visit Bariani’s orchard and production facilities, the treasure of California olive oil inspires me to head to the kitchen and pick a green leaf or piece of sliced bluefin to dunk in the precious liquid. I inhale the olive presses’ sweet fruity scent and the hefty wooden aroma of the balsamic curing
BARIANI PRESSES ITS LUCK WITH SUMPTUOUS OLIVES
