The name Angry Indian comes from my childhood, though it has nothing to do with farming—or at least it didn’t back then. My parents loved taking pictures of me. I, on the other hand, hated it. Every photo session ended the same way: me with a scowl so deep it could curdle milk. After a while, my mom gave up trying to coax a smile and declared, “He’s our little angry Indian.” The name stuck like glue.
Years later, when we bought 22 acres in San Miguel with 5 hillside acres planted in 450 Spanish olive trees, that childhood nickname made a comeback. Because nothing makes you frown quite like farming—especially when squirrels are involved.
Here’s the thing about squirrels: they’re cute… until you realize they’ve eaten more of your olives than you have. They don’t nibble politely either. No, they take one arrogant little bite out of an olive and toss the rest on the ground like they’re running some sort of woodland tapas bar. They’ll climb the trees faster than you can blink, chatter at you like they pay rent, and then disappear just as you’re reaching for a rock to toss in their direction. Meanwhile, you’re standing there, sunburned and sweaty, wondering how your life turned into a battle of wits with an animal that weighs less than your shoe.
Pruning trees? Hard work. Irrigation? A nightmare. Harvesting? A circus. But none of it compares to the frustration of staring into the beady little eyes of a squirrel who knows he’s winning. Somewhere out there, I’m convinced, there’s a squirrel running an underground olive oil operation funded entirely by stolen fruit from our grove.
And yet, despite the squirrels—and maybe because of them—we decided to lean in and fully commit to olive oil farming. These trees are stubborn, resilient, and downright inspiring. They thrive in rocky soil, endure long summers, and somehow manage to outlast droughts. They’re survivors—kind of like me in all those childhood photos, glaring at the world but refusing to give in.
That’s why we named our company Angry Indian Olive Oil. Every bottle tells the story of a kid who never smiled for the camera, a family crazy enough to buy 450 olive trees, and a never-ending battle with squirrels that think they own the place.
So when you drizzle our olive oil on your salad or dip a fresh piece of bread into it, just remember: you’re not just tasting olives. You’re tasting perseverance, stubbornness, a little bit of humor—and the sweet, sweet victory of winning (occasionally) against squirrels.
