Saturday, November 10, 2007

wagtail, screen, olive oil

In the Grove I see a pied wagtail. Its swooping flight is delightful to watch like a dance. And when it settles, it really does wag its tail, up and down though, and not, like a dog, from side to side.

From the street, I see into a room, where a television screen is reflecting yet another room.

A bottle of olive oil attracts my attention in the wine merchant this morning. "It's made by one of our wine suppliers," says the owner. I recall visiting an olive producer in Andalucia some years ago and tell him of a family meal in a low ceilinged cellar next to the stone press. "There was a dish", I say, "of orange-slices dressed with olive oil, unusual and unforgettable. The oranges as well as the oil came from the farm." He says: "I can taste that." And in my memory, suddenly come alive, so could I.

3 comments:

marja-leena said...

Isn't it amazing, that we can 'taste' just from memory? Orange in olive oil now, I can't quite imagine what that tastes like.

Lucy said...

Try it and see!

Plutarch said...

Think of the sweet and sour taste of salad dressing for a start. The orange flavour cuts across the sleekness of the oil. Tasting from memory: Proust knew about that.