He arrived one November morning, his face lit up with that quiet joy known only to those who have just completed a harvest. Our Belgian friend, recently settled in the lush countryside of inland Morocco, had just harvested his olives, his first Moroccan olives.
He spoke of his small olive grove with a mix of pride and astonishment, like a man discovering that he can bring something to life through his own patience. He had pressed his fruit in a traditional press in Had Dra, one of those places where time seems to slow down, where oil flows slowly like an ancient golden thread.
From his bag, he pulled out a bottle still warm from the dawn. A new oil, almost luminous, with a peppery greenness that captivates you as soon as you open it. He offered it to us as one offers a piece of land: simple, direct, full of gratitude.
A few days later, another newcomer made its way into our home in the Arganeraie: the Beaujolais Nouveau 2025, freshly arrived at my wine shop in Essaouira. It is often joked about and caricatured, but this vintage had something straightforward and precise. A bright color, a supple and juicy attack, carried by that tangy thread that gives depth to the fruit. A young wine that already knew where it was headed.
So, around the table, in the subtle scent of the argan trees and the Atlantic wind, we united the two novelties of the season: the first oil from a friend who came from the North, still infused with light, and the new wine from a faraway country, surprised to find itself here, in the hinterland of Essaouira.
There was a silence, the beautiful silence of those who truly savor. Then smiles appeared, as they always do when the earth reminds us that the word new can still have meaning.
Wine, Places & Memories