Oils · Avocado
Avocado Oil
From the Axarquía coast east of Málaga — hand-picked at full ripeness, cold-pressed below 40°C.
The idea behind the oil
An avocado is a fruit that hides its oil the way an olive does — folded into the flesh, waiting for patience rather than speed. We treat it accordingly. No solvents, no warmth above body temperature, no rush from grove to glass.
What ends in the bottle is deep green and almost buttery, dense on the spoon, soft on the tongue. A season held in glass, and a fruit returned to the table the way it grew.
The place
Axarquía, east of Málaga
East of Málaga, where the Mediterranean bends against the foothills, the mornings stay soft through December. The Axarquía coast has grown avocados since the 1960s — a small miracle for a fruit born on the other side of the ocean. Groves climb terraces of old stone. The trees are never rushed.
We buy from a cooperative of growers who agree on one rule: the fruit comes off the tree only when the flesh yields under the thumb. Nothing picked green. Nothing forced. The harvest stretches across months, not weeks, because each tree decides for itself.
The craft
Hours, not days
The distance between the tree and the press is measured in hours. The avocados are opened, de-stoned, gently pulped by hand. The paste is malaxed slowly and pressed cold — never above 40°C, which means the oil keeps its deep green colour, its buttery density and the antioxidants a warm press would quietly burn away.
It is filtered once, poured straight into dark glass, sealed, and rested for a few weeks before leaving the mill. We make small batches because we trust small batches. A great oil cannot be hurried into being.
Three interpretations
Extra Virgin is the raw voice of the grove — assertive, vegetal, alive. Organic Extra Virgin is the same voice, audited by the European leaf. Refined is quieter by design: filtered and heat-stable, built for the pan, the wok, the higher temperatures where a first press would protest. We offer all three because one kitchen is never only one thing.
The collection
At the table
Where it belongs
A thread of Extra Virgin over warm sourdough, the way another house would use butter. A spoonful folded into a winter soup just before serving. A salad of bitter leaves dressed with nothing else but salt, lemon, and a generous pour.
The Refined goes elsewhere — to the pan, to a high-heat sear, to a stir-fry where the smoke point matters more than the perfume. Both belong on the same shelf. Neither apologises for the other.
A private tasting
Taste the three together.
Request a tasting