The Collection
The Cellar
Small objects of great patience. Olives from Seville, artichokes from Murcia — jarred the way our grandmothers would recognise.
The idea behind the cellar
Some things should not be modernised. These olives are brined in the Andalusian manner, unhurried, over weeks. The artichokes are trimmed by hand before they ever meet the jar. We keep what the old kitchens of southern Spain always kept: salt, acid, olive oil, time.
The cellar is the quietest part of the house — the shelf you reach for when the day asks for something honest. Aperitivo, antipasto, the small punctuation marks of a Spanish table.
The place
Seville and Murcia
The olives come from the Aljarafe, west of Seville — gentle hills, white soils, the kind of country a Manzanilla tree understands at once. The fruit is hand-picked while still firm, then carried in shallow crates so nothing bruises on the way to the brine.
The artichokes come from Murcia, where the river plain produces hearts so tender they need almost nothing done to them. We pick them small, before the choke has started to form. By that point a kilo of plant has already been trimmed back to a few hundred grams of heart.
The craft
Brine, time, and a careful hand
The olives sit in salt and water for weeks, the way they have always been cured here. Nothing is pasteurised into silence, nothing forced. The bitterness leaves slowly. What remains is the fruit, the salt, and a little of the wood from the barrel.
The artichokes are blanched, peeled to the heart, and packed in glass with water, salt and a touch of acidity. No colourings, no firming agents, no industrial shortcuts. The jar arrives the way a careful kitchen would have prepared it the day before.
Small objects, long memory
An olive is a year of weather and a month of patience. An artichoke heart is a kilo of plant reduced to a single bite. These are not pantry fillers; they are the small luxuries the Mediterranean has always granted itself. We keep them the way the old kitchens did because the old kitchens were right.
The collection
At the table
An aperitivo, properly set
A small bowl of Manzanilla, cold from the fridge, beside a glass of dry sherry before lunch. Chupadedos with a slice of Ibérico, a piece of bread, nothing more. Artichoke hearts halved and dressed with a thread of olive oil and lemon, served at room temperature.
The cellar is built for the half-hour before the meal — the moment when guests arrive, the table is not yet set, and the kitchen has nothing to apologise for.
A private tasting
An aperitivo, properly set.
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