ALBANIA & THE OLIVE

Albanian cuisine is about as rich in heritage as the country itself. It’s a way of eating and living that has been formed by a millennium of cultural shifts and regimes, each uniquely carving into the landscape of the Albanian diet.

There is a great sense of pride in produce, particularly olive and grape cultivation, that is deep-rooted in Albanian culture. This tradition, dating as far back as the Ilyrians, has endured occupation from the Greek, Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman empires; right the way through modern history, when Albania was under strict Communist regime until 1991.

The various influences that have been pressed upon the country have created a cuisine that blends together some of the world’s favourite flavour profiles. It is a unique harmony of Italian, Greek, Turkish and wider Mediterranean dishes that, in true Albanian fashion, are served in abundance and are cooked to nourish and impress.

Olive Grove on the Albanian Coast

It seems unthinkable that a cuisine so heavily influenced by some of the world’s favourite flavours could be so undiscovered, yet it is. Albania is only beginning to step out from the shadow cast from a troublesome emergence from Communism and the world has been captivated by its story, people, awe-inspiring settings, delicious food and enviable hospitality.

Olive Tree near Syri I Kalter, Albania

However, even with Albania slowly becoming Europe’s not-so-best-kept-secret as more tourists flock to experience it for themselves, the mystery and secrecy surrounding Albania’s traditional cuisine and ingredients prevails. During the Communist era, traditional recipes were shunned by tight rationing and the ban on media meant that recipe books were lost. Many homes did not have books, pens or paper in abundance so recipes lived and died in the minds of those who had been fortunate to grow up with family members who could pass them down. As more people fled from the country than remained in it, for many families, there was often nobody left to pass these recipes onto.

I find it interesting to think that with all that was lost in this time, certain aspects of Albanian food culture prevailed and still remain significant in the lives of Albanians today, whether they live in or out of the country. Even I, who has inherited a sense of belonging to Albania through marriage, is also precious about some of these food traditions. One especially, olive oil.

Olive Grove near Ksamil, Albania

If you’ve ever read or seen Samin Nosrat’s Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat; you’ll be aware of the importance fat plays in cooking. In our house, one fat, homemade olive oil, is almost sacred. I exaggerate of course but then again, when it runs out before another batch is ready, my mood suggests otherwise.

I can’t claim to be something of a connoissur or boast any real technical knowledge as to how our olive oil comes to be and to be honest, there isn’t really much to know. The olive trees stand proud in our family’s garden in Albania and when they are ready, the olives are harvested and pressed into oil. There isn't really any high-tech machinery involved or a rigorous care routine to follow. They are simply there are olives, then oil. Nothing else is added, not during the growing season, or during the oil extraction. It’s about as natural an ingredient as you could muster by today’s standard of food production. It’s a family ritual that intertwines with the creation of traditional recipes, not just in our home but in families all over Albania; from the busy cities to the remote mountains. A ritual that runs deep in the food culture, unlike any other ingredient I work with in my kitchen. So much so that we pay a van to bring the olive oil from Albania all the way to London every year and there’s a sort of ceremonial transfer of the oil from the re-used plastic bottled it arrives in, to the special glass ones I keep here for it. And as the familiar shade of organic green begins to rise through the bottle, there is a sense of joy and relief that floods through you, knowing that this key ingredient is available in abundance once more.

If on the rare occasion we have to buy oil from the supermarket to tide us over, there is a very particular misery that runs through my kitchen until normality is restored.

Olive Branches in Kruje, Albania

As an Albanian and Mediterranean cook, there are a few ingredients that are fundamental in my kitchen; good oil, good salt, fresh herbs and good garlic. A simple pasta dish can be brought to life with clever use of these ingredients; a salad enriched with a drizzle of oil; or grilled meats, fish and cheese elevated with a simple pesto, whipped up from leftover herbs and perfectly bound together with the silken oil. What I love about Albanian oil is how dense it is. You don’t need to use a lot to gain a lot from it and its versatility means it works well on it’s own, gently drizzled as a topping or as a key fat for cooking or roasting. It’s an oil that’s rich, yet balanced and doesn’t give food that sort of greasy crispness you achieve with a lot of blended, store-bought oils.

Whether I’m using it in savoury or sweet recipes, olive oil is often the base of all of my food and using the right one really does make all the difference to the outcome. That’s why for me, the olive adorned landscape of Albania isn’t just beautiful but it’s a trove of flavour. The importance of olive oil not only to me and my recipes but to our wider family, has helped us form connections and traditions that will hopefully continue for many years to come. Not only is it a binding ingredient for many of our family recipes but it also binds us together; whether we are near or far. There is something profound about the way a meal, or even ingredients, can galvanise people, no matter where they are in the world or how far they find themselves from home. For us in London, every time my rustic, ceramic bottle of oil is brought out of the cupboard, for a little moment, we are transported home.

Green Olives