From Biddya with Love
Olive oil is Biddya's lifeblood.
A village in Palestine, Biddya is surrounded by thousands of acres of olive groves, many of which have been owned and managed by my family for hundreds of years.
In November '22 I spent a week there to reconnect with my roots and get a taste of the olive harvest.
The Inspiration
It finally clicked when mom gave me the call.
"Why don't you come to the olive harvest while I'm visiting" she nudged. "The crop looks amazing this year."
I had been planning to take sabbatical for over a year but hadn't pulled the trigger. Mom in Palestine during a peak olive harvest? Say no more. I had the signals I needed to make the call.
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Most people in Biddya were surprised that I’d come.
"Why would you come from 'Amreeka' [America] to pluck olives here with the Falaheen [peasant farmers]?" an older man asks me over turkish coffee at my uncle’s olive oil mill.
"I'm from here," I tell him. "Mustafa Odeh is my sido [grandfather]." I see the gears turning. He recognizes the name, and with a touch of surprise beams with pride. A familiar ritual commences. Strong hand shakes, kisses on both cheeks. "Ahlan wa Sahlan" [a warm welcome].
The Harvest
I joined cousins Furat and Oday as well as full time falaheen (farm laborers) Hassan and Abu-Mou'ad for a traditional harvest. On a warm sunny day we hand plucked olives, taking breaks to nosh on wood-fired shakshuka, and sip round after round of coffee and tea.
A dream became reality. The only entertainment coming from our labor, lighthearted conversation, and Abu-Mou'ads freestyle poetry, I felt transported to an analog era. To the time of my grandparents and those who came before them.
We hauled 13 sacks of olive weighing in at over 800 kg and yielding 160 kg of fresh AF olive oil. I got myself a five gallon tank to ship home in smaller bottles; except for one bottle that travelled with me for the rest of my sabbatical. I shared it with friends along the way.
[For higher res visuals and sound, see this instagram video.]
The Oil
After bagging our haul, we took the harvest to my uncle's olive oil mill*. I'd spent the better part of the week with the three brothers who run the mill, learning the process from end-to-end while drinking loads of arabic coffee, playing cards, and declining cigarettes.
By the time we brought our load in I felt like a local; stepping behind the gates I helped sort out any excess leaves and stems, watched my harvest get mashed and liquified, and finally, pumped the oil into its containers.
*We also could have gone to the co-op mill my grandfather established over 60 years ago (see photos here, and NPR interview with cousin and "olive expert" Osama Odeh who runs the mill today here).
The Journey
First, we air mailed the bottles from the old country to my parent's home in Michigan.
Then, friends Antonio and Sarah drove it across the country on their road trip to Seattle. (Many thanks!)
I poured up each bottle in my Seattle apartment.
Enjoy it
To get the most out of the dreamy oil, keep it at room temp and drizzle it on whatever you like. Some suggestions:
Drizzle in a bowl and dip it with your favorite bread. Fresh pita, baguette, or sourdough will do! Sprinkle salt to taste.
Pour it on your favorite dip! Hummus, labneh, or zaatar all work well.
Make a salad dressing.
Heck, drink it straight if you like.
Whatever you do please don't cook with this stuff, ok? Promise? Leave that job to your store bought oils. A quality olive oil should have a hint of a peppery burn and you owe it to yourself to experience that unadulterated touch of spice.
See Mo's tips for tasting Palestinian olive oil (along with his take on chocolate hummus) below.
And relevant comedy from Ramy.
What's next?
My dream would be to share the story of Biddya and it's harvest through film, writing, and other art forms. The goal is to ultimately give back to the community, and preserve the land and culture for future generations.
As a first step, I invested in a small Biddyan olive grove nestled between my aunts' and uncles' plots. I plan to go back every couple years to harvest, reconnect, and keep telling the story. Let me know if you'd like to join.
Want to connect?
I would love to hear your thoughts and maybe even work together. Please reach out to me by email.