🫒 Don’t Hate on Olives

In defense of Spain’s briniest stone fruit

Of all the picky food preferences people hold, “I don’t like olives” is among the most unhinged. It’s an outrageous claim and I’m shocked at how often I hear it. To dismiss olives in Spain is like traveling to Italy and swearing off pasta. Olives aren’t just food—they’re a cultural cornerstone and a perfect tapa. Everyone sings the praises of olive oil, so it never occurred to me I’d hear so many people, both tourists and residents of Spain, insist they don’t like olives.

Allergies are one thing, but picky eating is a personal pet peeve. I’m going to the mat on this topic because olives are inextricably linked to Mediterranean diet and culture, the virtues of which food science and social media love to extol. If the Mediterranean diet is so beloved, then why do so many people claim to not like one of its key ingredients?

Olives are mild compared to other foods like durian, a fruit that is famous across Southeast Asia. I get not liking the vanilla-meets-onion flavor of durian—I’ve tried it several times and it never gets better. Durian is so smelly that hotels forbid guests from cutting or storing it anywhere. I’ve never seen a hotel put up a “NO OLIVES” sign.

I realize I’m doing exactly what I’m criticizing others for—yucking another culture’s yum. But olives are far more palatable and varied by comparison to other exotic fruits. And yes, olives are fruits—stone fruits in fact!

So Many Varieties

The issue isn’t olives themselves; it’s limited exposure to olive varieties. Many Americans grew up thinking olives begin and end with a can of pitted, black ones—drained and placed on fingertips at Thanksgiving. These black beauties give tasty nostalgia and sliced black olives are great on pizza and mixed into enchiladas and salads. But judging all olives as bad after only eating black canned olives is like saying “I don’t like bread” after one slice of Wonder Bread.

If this is you, my friend, we need to expand your olive palette.

Olives vary wildly in size, color, texture, ripeness, and curing method. Some are briny and bright, others buttery and sweet. They may be marinated with citrus, garlic, smoked paprika, or herbs. Some are firm and meaty, others soft and plush. There are several varietals, like Manzanilla, Arbequina, Hojiblanca, Gordal—and that’s just Spain, which produces more olives than any other country.

Several varieties of olives for sale at a market | Photo by Anthony Camp

How to Try Olives, In and Out of Spain

If you’ve tried an olive, you’ve tried an olive. Unlike cilantro, a divisive herb people either love (me!) or hate (suit yourself), there are hundreds of types of olives. Their variety takes them out of the like/dislike binary and puts them on a multifaceted spectrum.

Thankfully, olives are ubiquitous; you don’t need to leave home to give them a few more tries.

No trip to Spain on the calendar? Most U.S. grocery stores carry olives, especially in self-serve bars, deli counters, or glass jars tucked near the canned ones. Look at Kroger, Trader Joe’s, or even Walmart.

Simply serve them in a small bowl as an appetizer—don’t forget to include a container for the pits. Look at you, being an effortlessly fancy host!

If Spain is on the itinerary: get ready! In Madrid, unlike in many northern or southern cities, ordering a drink often earns a free tapa—usually potato chips or a dish of olives. Use this moment to recalibrate your relationship to aceitunas (olives; one of my favorite Spanish words).

Don’t like olives in food? Try them in martinis. They’re a cocktail garnishes for good reason.

Three Tips for Eating Olives

I offer these tips to help you get the most out of your olive tasting experience and not feel like a newbie in the process. We are going for variety, not vergüenza (embarrassment).

1. Assume the olive has a pit. This is a best practice for your teeth if you unknowingly bite down on a pit. Ouch and eek. We don’t want that.

2. Chew around the pit. Pop the olive in whole, chew the fruit, then press the pit out discreetly between thumb and curled index finger. This eliminates the need to gnaw at the olive with your front teeth (embarrassing) or your unwashed fingers to your mouth (unsanitary).

3. Try every olive. Some are stuffed with anchovy paste, cheese, or red pepper. You’ll see them served as gildas, skewered and served with pickled peppers and salty fish. In Spanish supermarkets, you might see them under the name “chupadedos” (suck fingers), which requires no explanation.

The giant green Gordals—light on vinegar and heavy on fruit—are my personal favorite. They’re plump, mild, buttery, and absurdly satisfying—very “moreish” as the British say. Unlike other salty snacks, olives deliver heart-healthy fats and dietary fiber.

To The Picky Eaters

Saying “I don’t like olives” slams the door on an entire world of one of Spain’s oldest, most iconic crops. It’s a rejection not just of flavor, but of tradition.

Be more adventurous (associating olives as with adventure is a stretch, but we have to start somewhere). Try them. Unless you have an allergy, olives aren’t going to hurt you. Declaring an anti-olive stance is like standing in the Prado, looking at paintings, and announcing, “I don’t like art.” Absolutely insane.

And if you try, let’s say, 25 varieties and still don’t like them? Gracias—there’s more for the rest of us.

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💬 Leave a Comment

Have I ruined our friendship forever or nudged you toward olive enlightenment? Fingers crossed for the latter. Chime in below—and remember: Olive You (and olives, too!) 😘

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⏮️ Last Week

I tried to make peace with Spanish summer heatwaves, only to realize that roller shades are a crappy consolation prize and that forced gratitude, however well-intended, is a disingenuous practice. Please forgive me; I’m going on week four of heat-induced sleep deprivation. My Monstera Deliciosa plant and I are struggling; her her suffering is more visible than mine:

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