|Maddie and Pampa at the airport. Welcome home.|
|Maddie, me and the olive oil.|
They looked like four exhausted hobos sitting on their huge suitcases and multitude of carry-ons in front of the airport terminal as I pulled up the truck to load it. But the smiles were real.
My son, Evan, brought me a treasured can of ORO Spanish olive oil, which is like drinking platinum. This stuff is so good, it almost makes me cry. I guard it like the family jewels or very old brandy (which I can't drink), dolling it out in short snippets to worthy people.
We visited the ORO groves and bottling plant near Cordoba last year and I can tell you there is nothing in this can but olive oil, pure and simple, and so smooth, you will truly want to just turn up the can and drink it. Madeline, my 11-year-old grandgirl, can take an entire baguette, pour a bowl of olive oil and eat the whole thing.
We're not sure where Evan's family's next stop is, but they'll be here for a while and I'm going to enjoy it.