Everything is liquid on the Mediterranean, everything seems to want to slip on the ancient colonial paths. Even the flavors, when they migrate between the shore and the bank, become fluid, mercurial. They assume the shapes of the new lands conquered, but they never change, because they carry sturdy sprouts of Terra Madre inside.
Nothing wraps history more than oil, of the taste that has been able to give to conquests, to the maturation of a territory, after countless changes of domination. And in this marvelous land, among churches colored in gold and blue, monuments to the power of the Roman Empire and endless feral campaigns, the oil has found the most suitable dimension, the one that needs a longer breath, of long times for the growth of an identity made of smells and flavors.
Between Capua and the loops of the deep Volturno, the olive has expanded its ability to regenerate itself, to improve and take all the good that a land has offered it. Here the oil is no longer a liquid, but it seems to be a wrapping mantle of a historical identity with a unique thickness in the world. The Greeks came to contend with the Etruscans lands to implant the first trees of that wonderful fruit. They used different and obscure names to identify the same extraordinary flavor. Here, a few steps from the plain that was an epic square for Spartacus and Hannibal, arrived the first long lines of agrielaìa, kòtinos, phulìa. The robust olive varieties of the Greeks that were mixed with the local populations, the traditions of a land already powerful in ancient history.
The meeting of civilizations found in this precious and soft liquid the first fluid in which to create alliances, agricultural experiments. Around the processing of oil, historical scenarios changed. But that fruit remained unchanged. It had deeper roots, changing physiognomy to this territory, became the queen of a very fertile and pure land.
With the arrival of small sybarite colonies, then, the Capuan oil became pure poetry, so as to slip as it was two centuries before, directly in the cultures of the Romans who gave breath and rationality to the cultivation of this green queen. The Volturno, decided as its name, unstoppable as the wit of those who frequented it, seemed almost green because of the proximity of the dense olive groves that caressed him from the banks, giving him the essence of that precious color.
The Byzantines came to take a territory made of hardness and roughness. They took the noble charm of Capua into their hands and made it a sacred land. From the hard struggle of an amphitheater as big as a city, the Capuano oil passed into the loving hands of monks and farmers who knew of amber lands, where the Greek culture had become really like oil, passing through the filters of a refined culture of 'Orient. The olives of Capua were not even affected by medieval abandonment, but they managed to draw new lifeblood from that abrupt era of cultural transformations.
The olive tree remains a millennial witness of centuries slipped on the purity of the crops in the plain around the Volturno. Not a tree, but the symbol of changes that have never scratched the proud hardness of the trunks in these plains. And if the prestige of history passes through the ancient traces, the olive tree and the oil of Capua are like the discoveries of Tirino or the palaces of Mycenae, where more olive pits emerged than remains of ancient vases.
Because here the oil and its processing are things started long before building amphitheaters and temples, they are spells of perfumes and historical contaminations that in this land resist and grow with passion, patience, love for the quality of a product that, by now, rises to the very emblem of this region. Because the fast and absent-minded story will never tell it, but between the olive trunk used by Ulysses to carve a bed in its Ithaca, the olive tree born from the beating of Athena and the olives that still grow as the first day in the wonderful plaga of Capua there is no distance. There is no difference. Everything has remained intact as twenty centuries ago, when it was the fluid of the olives to perfume this mythical land.