52 recipes that use black olives, with photos, step-by-step instructions and cook times. The quickest, Ensalada valenciana, takes 15 minutes. It is most often cooked with garlic, onion and egg.
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Crab Louie was on the menus of San Francisco's grand hotels and wharf restaurants by the early 1900s and is still a winter lunch when Dungeness crab is in season. Sweet crab meat is heaped on crisp lettuce with hard-boiled eggs, tomato, asparagus and avocado, and covered with a creamy, tangy pink dressing. Chef's tip: keep the crab in big pieces and add the dressing at the table, so the salad stays crisp.
Roadside cafés on the mountain passes of the High Atlas keep small clay tagines warming over charcoal, and the one most travellers order for breakfast or a quick lunch is the Berber omelette: eggs cracked over a bubbling base of tomato, onion, cumin and paprika, then covered until they just set. It arrives sizzling with olives and herbs on top and plenty of bread to wipe the dish clean, usually with a glass of mint tea. At home you can use a small tagine on a heat diffuser or a lidded frying pan. For anyone pregnant, very young, older or with a weak immune system, cook until the yolks are firm. Chef's tip: never put a clay tagine straight onto a high flame; use a diffuser and medium-low heat, or it can crack.
The muffuletta was first made by Sicilian grocers on Decatur Street in New Orleans in the early 1900s for dock workers' lunches, and it is still sold whole or in quarters to take to the levee or a Saints game. A big round sesame loaf is filled with layers of ham, salami, mortadella (all pork) and provolone and soaked with a chunky olive salad. Provolone is traditionally made with animal rennet. Chef's tip: press the sandwich under a weight for an hour so the oil soaks into the bread.
Zé do Pipo was the nickname of a Porto tavern keeper in the 1960s whose cod won a national cooking competition, and the dish became a celebration plate in northern restaurants ever since. Thick cod loins sit on a bed of slow-cooked onions, are covered in mayonnaise and ringed with piped mashed potato, then baked until the top turns golden and blistered. Use a good shop-bought mayonnaise made with pasteurised egg; homemade mayonnaise with raw yolks is not for pregnant women, young children or anyone with a weakened immune system. A common mistake is a runny purée; the potato must be stiff enough to pipe, or it slumps under the mayonnaise. Chef's tip: pipe the mash while it is still warm, as cold mash cracks.
The name gives the game away: tapeno is the Provençal word for capers, and a Marseille chef is said to have first pounded them with black olives in the 1880s. Across Provence, from the markets of Nyons to the cafés of Aix, tapenade comes out with the apéritif before a long summer dinner, spread thickly on toasted baguette. The classic recipe adds a few anchovy fillets; this version leaves them out and leans on extra capers and lemon for the salty, savoury edge, so it is vegan. Chef's tip: buy olives with stones and pit them yourself; ready-pitted black olives are often the dyed, bland kind and give a flat, inky spread.
Named after the Porto cod merchant who is said to have created it in the late nineteenth century, this is the city's most loved salt cod dish and a fixture of Christmas Eve and family gatherings across the north. Cod is soaked, warmed in milk, flaked and baked with sliced potatoes and plenty of onions softened in olive oil, then crowned with hard-boiled eggs and black olives. Chef's tip: steep the cod in hot milk rather than boiling it, so the flakes stay moist and come apart in big, glossy pieces.
Few pastas come together so fast from a cupboard: tomatoes, black olives, capers, garlic and chilli simmered for ten minutes into a sauce that is briny, sharp and a little fiery. Naples claims the olive-and-caper version, often made with Gaeta olives, while in Rome cooks melt a few anchovy fillets into the oil first; this recipe follows the Neapolitan line and leaves the fish out, so it is fully vegan. Romans and Neapolitans alike treat it as a late-night or end-of-the-week plate, made when the fridge is bare. Chef's tip: rinse the capers well and add the olives only at the end, so the sauce stays bright and salty rather than bitter.
Late summer in Turin means the fat, square peppers of Carmagnola piled high at Porta Palazzo market, and this is what Piedmontese cooks do with them. Halved and filled with peeled tomato and slivers of garlic, they roast until the skins blister and the juices turn sweet and jammy, then come to the table lukewarm as an antipasto. The old recipe hides an anchovy fillet in each half; here capers and black olives bring the same salty edge, so the dish is vegan. Chef's tip: keep the stalk on when you halve the peppers, as it helps each half hold its shape and its juices.
Solterito, the 'little bachelor', is a cold salad from Arequipa in southern Peru, so called because it was simple enough for a single man to make. Broad beans, sweet corn, fresh cheese, tomato and red onion are tossed with black olives, parsley and a little rocoto chilli in an oil and vinegar dressing. It is eaten with the spicy dishes of Arequipa's picanterías, or on its own as a light lunch. Rocoto is a fat, fiery red chilli; a red pepper with a little habanero gives a similar crunch and heat. Use queso fresco made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: peel the broad beans after blanching; the pale skins are tough and the bright green beans inside make the salad sweet and tender.
Lima's old criollo kitchens turned leftover hens into this golden, velvety stew, and it still turns up at family lunches, office canteens and menú del día stalls all over the capital. Poached chicken is pulled into threads and folded into a sauce thickened with milk-soaked bread, ground walnuts and parmesan, coloured by ají amarillo, Peru's fruity yellow chilli. It is served over white rice with boiled potatoes, a halved egg and a black olive. Chef's tip: keep the poaching broth; loosening the sauce with it instead of more milk gives a deeper, more chickeny flavour.
Lisbon's Bairro Alto taverns claim this dish, said to be named after a tasca owner called Brás, and it is still a weeknight favourite in homes all over the city. Flaked salt cod is softened with slowly cooked onion, tossed with a heap of fine straw-cut fried potatoes, then bound at the last second with beaten egg so everything stays creamy and loose. Black olives and parsley go on top. A green salad is all it needs. Chef's tip: take the pan off the heat the moment you add the eggs; they should finish cooking from the warmth of the potatoes, like a soft scramble.
Salteñas are the pastries all of La Paz queues for between 10 and noon, when they come out of the oven: a slightly sweet, golden crust wrapped round a soupy filling of beef, potato, peas, olive and egg in a gelatine-set broth seasoned with cumin and ají. The trick, and the fun, is to bite off the top and sip the juice without spilling. The mistake is filling the pastry with warm stew: the filling must be chilled overnight until it sets firm, or it leaks. Chef's tip: hold a salteña upright, nibble off one corner and drink the juice before eating the rest.
Causa limeña is Lima's cold potato terrine: yellow potatoes mashed with lime, oil and ají amarillo, pressed into layers and filled. In Lima it is a lunchtime starter sold in every menú and at every family party, often with tuna or chicken; this vegetarian causa is filled with ripe avocado and a creamy salad of corn, peas and carrot. The potato should be smooth, sunny yellow, tangy and gently hot, and the whole thing is served cold in neat slices. Make it in the morning for dinner, or the day before for a party. Chef's tip: mash the potatoes while warm but add the lime only once they have cooled; lime on hot potato turns the mash grey and gluey.
Fricassé are the small, soft fried rolls sold from glass-fronted counters in Tunis and the coastal towns, split while still warm and filled to order with tuna, boiled egg, olives, boiled potato, mechouia salad and a smear of harissa. They are an afternoon snack, a beach lunch and a Ramadan favourite. The mistake is frying the dough when the oil is too cool, which makes it greasy and heavy; keep the oil at 170 °C. Chef's tip: give the shaped rolls a full second rise so they puff and stay light inside.
In Iquitos, Tarapoto and the river towns of Peru's Amazon, juanes are steamed by the hundred for the feast of San Juan on 24 June, when families picnic by the rivers to mark the start of the dry season. Each parcel hides a piece of chicken, half a boiled egg and a black olive inside rice seasoned with turmeric, cumin and the herb sacha culantro, all wrapped in broad bijao leaves that perfume the rice. Banana leaves are the easiest swap outside the jungle. Chef's tip: let the rice cool before you wrap it; warm rice is too soft to shape and the parcels lose their round shape.
Slata mechouia means 'grilled salad', and in Tunisia it opens almost every family meal and Ramadan iftar: peppers, tomatoes, onion and garlic charred over coals until blackened, then peeled and chopped into a smoky relish with olive oil, caraway and coriander seed. It is scooped up with bread or served next to grilled food and couscous. A tuna and egg topping is common in restaurants; this version keeps it to vegetables and olives. Chef's tip: let the vegetables steam in a covered bowl after charring; the skins then slip off in seconds.
Labneh is the thick, tangy strained yogurt that Lebanese, Syrian and Palestinian families spread on a plate every morning, swirl with olive oil and scatter with za'atar, the wild-thyme, sumac and toasted sesame mix of the Levant. It sits beside olives, cucumber, tomato and warm khubz at breakfast in Beirut and on the mezze table at night, and the firmer version is rolled into small balls and kept in jars of olive oil for weeks. Here salted yogurt hangs for a full day until it is as thick as cream cheese, then goes out two ways: spread in a dish, and rolled into balls. A common mistake is using low-fat or set yogurt with gelatine; it gives a thin, chalky labneh, so choose full-fat plain yogurt with only milk and cultures. Chef's tip: stir the salt in before straining, not after, because it draws out more whey and seasons the yogurt all the way through.
Panzanella is how Tuscans eat old bread in summer: hard, unsalted loaf soaked in water, squeezed and crumbled with juicy tomatoes, cucumber, red onion and basil, then dressed with vinegar and plenty of olive oil. In Florence and the Maremma it is a cool lunch for the hottest days, and every family argues about cucumber. Make it 30 minutes before eating so the bread drinks the tomato juice but keeps some bite. Chef's tip: salt the tomatoes first and let them weep in a bowl; that juice becomes the dressing.
Papa a la huancaína is named after Huancayo in Peru's central Andes, but it is eaten everywhere, from Lima's set-lunch counters to Sunday family tables. Thick slices of cold boiled potato are blanketed in huancaína sauce, a silky, mildly hot sauce of ají amarillo, fresh cheese and evaporated milk, then finished with boiled egg and black olives. It is served cold as a starter, and the sauce is also the favourite dip for boiled corn and fried yuca. Use a queso fresco made with vegetarian rennet if you want it fully vegetarian (or a mild feta rinsed of salt). Chef's tip: fry the chillies, onion and garlic before blending; this takes off their raw edge and gives the sauce its rounded, sweet heat.
In Chile pastel de choclo is the taste of January and February, when choclo (big-kernelled starchy corn) is in every market from Santiago to Talca and families bake it in individual clay dishes called pailas. Underneath is the pino, a slow-cooked onion filling with olives, raisins and hard-boiled egg; on top, fresh corn blended with basil and a little milk, scattered with sugar so it browns into a crackly crust. This version makes the pino with mushrooms instead of beef. Chef's tip: cook the corn topping on the hob until it thickens like polenta before it goes in the oven, or it will stay runny.
In the old town of Nice, pissaladière is sold by the square from bakeries and market stalls, a lunchtime slice or something to nibble with a drink before dinner. A thin bread dough is spread thickly with onions cooked down for almost an hour until soft and sweet, then crossed with salted anchovies and dotted with small black Niçoise olives. It is just as good at room temperature as warm. Chef's tip: cook the onions low and slow without letting them brown; they should be pale gold and jammy, not caramelised.
Antalya does piyaz its own way. Elsewhere in Turkey the bean salad is dressed with oil and vinegar, but on the Mediterranean coast the beans are folded through a pale, nutty sauce of tahini, lemon and vinegar, then crowned with sumac onions, tomato and parsley. Lunch canteens in the old town serve it on the side of almost everything, and at home it is a filling lunch with bread or a cool side on a hot evening. Tinned beans make it a fifteen-minute dish. Chef's tip: when the lemon hits the tahini it will seize into a stiff, grainy paste; don't panic, just keep beating in cold water a spoonful at a time and it turns silky.
Big pieces of sweet red pepper and fennel tossed with lemon, black pepper and olive oil and roasted until soft and just starting to brown, then topped with black olives, toasted pine nuts and fresh herbs. It works as a side or a light starter, warm or cold. The vegetables can also be roasted on the barbecue jiko.
Rocoto relleno is the pride of Arequipa's picanterías: fiery rocoto peppers stuffed with a sweet-savoury filling, topped with cheese and baked over sliced potato in an egg and milk custard. The traditional filling is minced beef; this vegetarian version uses mushrooms and lentils fried with ají panca, cumin, peanuts, raisins, olives and boiled egg, which gives the same rich, spiced, slightly sweet bite. The peppers are first blanched several times in fresh water with sugar and vinegar to tame their heat, which is the real skill of the dish. If you can't find rocotos, use small red bell peppers and add a little habanero to the filling. Chef's tip: taste a sliver of rocoto after the second blanching; stop when it is hot but pleasant, and blanch once more if it still burns.
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