Oils · Olive
Olive Oil
Cold-pressed Picual from a third-generation grove in Jaén. Harvested in early October, milled within six hours, pressed at 24°C.
The idea behind the oil
Oil, for us, is a season captured. Olives picked at dawn in early October, the fruit reaching the mill within six hours, the press never rising above 27°C. What the bottle holds is the grove as it stood on a specific morning of a specific year — no pesticides, no blends, no shortcuts.
We bottle what the land gave. A single variety, a single estate, a single harvest. The label tells you when the olive was a fruit and when it became an oil. Nothing in between is hidden.
The place
Sierra de Cazorla, Jaén
Jaén holds more olive trees than any province on earth. Among them, in the foothills of the Sierra de Cazorla, sits a third-generation grove of Picual — a variety the Romans already knew, hardier than most, generous with polyphenols.
The land here is limestone and red clay. Winters are cold enough to slow the tree, summers dry enough to concentrate the fruit. The family that tends it has not changed the way they prune in forty years. There is no reason to.
The craft
Six hours from branch to mill
Picking begins before sunrise, while the fruit is still cool. The olives travel by crate, never by sack — the weight of a sack would bruise them. Within six hours they are at the mill. Within twenty-four they are oil.
The press never climbs above 27°C, the legal threshold of cold extraction, but ours sits closer to 24°C. The juice is decanted, never filtered through anything that would strip it. It rests in steel before glass, breathes once, and is bottled in dark green to keep the light away.
What a single estate tastes like
A blended oil is a committee. A single estate is a voice. Ours is Picual at full pitch — green tomato leaf, fresh almond, a peppery finish at the back of the throat that tells you the polyphenols are still alive. It does not taste of an idea of olive oil. It tastes of one grove on one morning of one autumn.
The collection
At the table
The first pour of the day
Toast at breakfast, salt and a long pour. Tomato at lunch, the oil last. Fish in the evening, the oil last again. A great olive oil is rarely the first ingredient in a dish but almost always the last — the one that ties everything to the place it came from.
Keep it away from the light, away from the stove, and use it generously. Frugality is the enemy of a living oil; it should be poured the way you mean it.
A private tasting
Taste them side by side.
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