This trash-to-lushness story begins in the small town of Kyritz, Germany, when two creatives, Laura Muthesius and Nora Eisermann, decide to turn a historic apartment building into holiday rental units. The two performed their magic on the interiors (see their artful transformation of one of the flats over on Remodelista), but what to do with the backyard, which was unloved and unused, other than as a place to store trash bins?
The simple answer: add more plants and, in particular, more flowers. Aside from a hydrangea, the courtyard was devoid of color. After moving the garbage cans indoors to their own storage area and covering the hardscaping—uneven bricks and cobblestones laid out in a somewhat garish pattern—with a layer of gravel, Laura and Nora turned their attention to planting. More hydrangeas. A quince tree. Lots of oregano. American mint, anise hyssop, an aronia tree, climbing roses, lavender, sage, and potted olive trees.
“We wanted a wild-looking garden that has a Mediterranean feeling. We were a bit scared not to have enough light for the herbs like oregano and lavender, as it is not sunny all day in the backyard but it seems to be just enough as they are all growing so well,” they share. The plants were the costliest part of the landscape design but also “the best investment, as they just grow more and more beautiful each year.”
After moving in furniture to create outdoor living and dining spaces, and adding an outdoor kitchen (the chicest we’ve seen!), the once neglected courtyard is now their “secret little garden.” Let’s take a tour, and be sure to scroll to the end to see the space in its original state, complete with trash bins.
Above: Laura and Nora furnished the outdoor living area with pieces from Tine K Home’s bamboo collection. Above: “The ivy and wild vine that climb up the backside of the building is just so so charming and makes you feel like you are in a secret little garden.”
As autumn whispers into our days and nights, olives, somewhere, are ripening. And that makes my mouth water in anticipation. Oil-cured olives await. My olive-curing adventures began this cold January, when I was gifted a tiny, fresh crop of ripe black olives by Rachel Prince, a talented professional gardener and friend who lives two blocks west of us in Brooklyn. Rachel grows her three-foot tall Arbequina olive trees in pots that overwinter indoors in our USDA growing zone 7b (-ish). I had always wanted to make oil-cured—versus brined—olives, whose meaty, concentrated flavor can be addictively good, for anyone who loves savory flavors. The results, a couple of weeks later, were surprisingly delicious, and the process could not have been easier.
All you need to make oil-cured olives are salt, olives, and time. And maybe a pillow slip.
Above: Tiny, Brooklyn-grown olives, ready after two weeks in salt.
As I read about how to make oil-cured olives (starting with this delightful tutorial) I learned quickly that the term “oil cured” is a misnomer—no oil is involved in the curing process. It’s more accurate to describe these wizened treats as dry-cured, or salt-cured. But the description seems to stick.
Rachel’s little cold-bletted olives were less bitter than most, but I still soaked them overnight, then mixed them with an equal weight of sea salt before hanging them in a cloth from the ceiling (right beside the annual hoshigaki), to cure. Snow fell on the skylight above. After a week, I tasted one. Still mildly bitter. But just one week more and the tiny olives were ready. I was delighted to discover that they tasted—at least to me—exactly as oil-cured olives should: savory and succulent, in a wrinkled way.
Above: Olives in April outside Nieuwoudtville, South Africa.
A few months later, in April and a hemisphere away, I found myself outside Nieuwoudtville, South Africa, standing awed beside three 12-foot olive trees whose silver-leafed branches were weighed down with plump green and black fruit. They were planted around our accommodations, a 200-year-old farmstead that was our base for a once-in-a-lifetime trip to see the annual and breathtaking autumn display of Brunsvigia flowers in the veld around the town. Pomegranate trees grew beside the olives, their ripe-to-bursting fruit splitting to expose juicy red gems. Rosemary in bloom clambered over a stone wall. In a word, heaven.
I remembered those dead-easy oil-cured olives in wintery Brooklyn, and I began to pick.
Above: My oil-cured olives with orange, shatta, and mint.
Oil-cured olives recall two formative meals. One, where, as an impressionable 20-year old waiting for a waiter-friend to finish his shift in a Turkish restaurant in Cape Town, I found myself the surprised recipient of two plates, sent from the kitchen to me by the intimidating chef. On a small plate was a slab of unadorned sheeps’ milk feta. The second plate contained nothing but glossy, oil-cured olives. I had never seen any before. A diminutive carafe of red wine arrived. It seemed shockingly austere, and I have never forgotten it (the chef went on to become a friend and food mentor; now 85, he lives in Istanbul).
The other indelible memory is from Café Gitane, an indefatigable restaurant in Manhattan’s Nolita, where, ten years after that light night snack, I ate for lunch a startling salad of orange segments, oil-cured olives, and chile. It was served with a hunk of baguette, whose purpose was to sop up the complicated-tasting and soupy juice at the bottom of the bowl. I have made that salad ever since, recently with shatta as well as some mint, from our little terrace. The addition of house-cured olives makes it an even more satisfying pleasure.
Above: The Nieuwoudtville bowl of mixed-variety fresh olives, on April 11th.
Ever tasted a fresh olive? If you have, then I’m so sorry. Fresh, raw olives are surprisingly very bitter and need to be fermented, cured in a vinegar or salt water brine, or dry-cured with oil in order to be delicious.
When a tree, like an olive, is slow-growing then it pays to buy the largest one you can afford to avoid frustration and disappointment. I usually recommend nothing smaller than a 15-gallon tree.
7. …and slow to fruit, too.
On average, an olive may take four to five years before it fruits. This production is also dependent on whether the growing conditions are warm and sunny enough. If these requirements aren’t met, then fruiting might not occur at all.
Italians say that you should prune the olive tree in such a way that a bird can fly through the middle of it. Pruning is needed to reduce the density of the foliage and allow sunlight to infiltrate every part of the tree. Also, olive trees produce fruit on the previous year’s branches, so in order to have fruit every year you must make sure that adequate growth occurs every year. In general, prune fruiting olives after harvest. If you are growing a non-fruiting olive, proper pruning is still strongly encourage to avoid a gangly or lopsided tree; plus it’s always a good idea to remove dead, diseased, or damaged limbs. This can be done in the spring or early summer. Pro tip: watch out for snacking deer who also like to “prune” young olive trees. You may need to net the lower branches or spray a deer repellent on newly planted trees.
9. Olive trees can be a houseplant.
Above: Olea europaea ‘Arbequina’ is a Spanish olive tree that makes a great indoor specimen. Photograph via Terrain.
Looking to add a little Mediterranean style to your home decor? A potted olive tree might be the addition you need—for a little while at least. Long-term these trees are best grown outside. But a potted olive can thrive for a year or so indoors as long as you make sure it gets lots of light—a south-facing window or under a skylight works. Maintenance-wise, water your indoor olive when the top inch of soil is dry to the touch. If you see leaves yellowing and dropping, then either it is receiving not enough or too much water. Use cacti/palm soil for good drainage, as soggy soil can be detrimental. Pest-wise, be on the lookout for scale invading leaves and stems. Pro tip: An early scale invasion can be handled by simply picking off the critters.
Amazingly, almost all parts of an olive tree have significance. The trees themselves symbolize wisdom, peace, power, fertility, and purity. The branches symbolize peace and abundance and were once ritualistically offered to deities and powerful people as signs of purification and blessings. And olive oil has long been considered sacred and is still used today in many religious ceremonies.
