You and I were in Sonoma doing some wine tasting for the weekend. After falling in love with some Barbera wine we decided to check out the Olive Festival in the courtyard of the winery. It was overcast and there were not many vendors out. Just outside the art pavilion was the fateful olive vendor man. He was eccentric, the way you would imagine someone who cures their own olives to be. I’ve always considered you the more adventurous of the two of us; perhaps that is why things unfolded as they did.
After giving us an enthusiastic tour of his olive line he came to the grand finale-the jar of garlic olives cured with a whole bulb of garlic! Now, I am not clear on the details right after this but somehow this scary olive ended up in my hand and not yours. Had the tides shifted? Was I now the adventurous foodie of our duo? I went for it. The green olive of awfulness immediately wanted to vacate my mouth, but I had you and the weird olive man looking to my reaction. I had to play it cool and get the olive down.
Once that was done, I took one of those deep breaths out like people do when they have just accomplished something major. I liked how you said the garlic smell turned into a visible purple Zelda-esque cloud around my head.