My favorite spinning coach at the gym is fond of saying that if you had lived in the 18th century, the 18th century version of you could’ve kicked your 21st century butt. It’s an intriguing thought that goes beyond pushing yourself harder in spinning class. Our lives have become so easy in many ways. I’m not saying that I want to do away with all modern technology and go back to cooking over an open fire, but it’s interesting to realize that it’s our relationship to physical work that has changed over recent history and not our bodies’ actual capabilities.
The people in Nico’s family are definitely do-it-yourself kind of people and I quickly learned that when they do something, they go all out. In addition to working full-time jobs, they also manage orchards, fields of vegetables, and a menagerie of rabbits, chickens, and ducks on a daily basis. For a girl from the suburbs, the learning curve can be steep! (See my post: 14 Turtledoves and a Cat)
This weekend, the collective effort revolved around making walnut oil, which people around here often use in vinaigrettes. Let me just say that I now totally get why nuts and nut oils are so expensive! The process began in October when the walnuts began falling from the trees and continued throughout the chilly, winter evenings as we gathered around my in-laws’ dining table to crack the nuts and separate the walnuts from the shells. Between the collective efforts of Nico’s parents, his brother’s family, and his aunt and uncle, we ended up with 187 pounds of ground walnuts – that’s a lot of nuts! This weekend, it was time for the final phase in this multi-part effort: roasting and pressing the ground nuts. Like most group activities around here, we were up and at ‘em pretty much as soon as the sun was up. As is the case with many things, it turns out that making walnut oil is not rocket science. In a nut shell, we had four big pots going over propane fires in which a few lucky individuals had the privilege and responsibility of stirring the nuts continuously until they turned a nice brown color. Once the pot of nuts was “done,” they were transferred to one of the two big presses and the stirrer had a few moments of blissful reprieve to stretch before another pot of nuts appeared before him or her. I literally stirred nuts from 8am to noon. Call me a wimp, but as my right arm began seizing up a couple of hours in, I remembered my spinning coach’s philosophy about the 18th versus 21st century version of you and thought to myself, “Nah, let her kick my butt.”
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