WHEN I first met Matt I was quite a naïve (in lots of ways – but that’s another story). Matt asked me if I had ever eaten a ripe olive off a tree. I told him I hadn’t even tried one in a jar. He told me I didn’t know what I was missing out on as he plucked a plump purple kalamata olive off the tree above us and handed it to me like he was seducing me with a peeled grape.
As I spat out the vile and bitter fruit (much to Matt’s delight) I vowed I would never try another. Well at least – not a fresh one.