Hello, hello,
Today, I come bearing news that fills me with immense excitement. For the first time ever at Campos del Abuelo, we are offering olive oil. And not just any olive oil. It hails from Ciudad Real, where, upon seeing Braulio's olive groves, you feel the same way I do when I survey my orange groves in Valencia.
That mix of calm and anticipation that only arises when the land is truly nurtured with care. Each olive tree neatly pruned, the soil alive, the irrigation thoughtfully adjusted.
It's clear they are Braulio's pride and joy. His face lights up when he talks about his trees, when he recounts the story of a particular one. Just like it happens here with the orange trees.
But let's be clear, I compare them in terms of care because, at their core, harvesting oranges and making olive oil are very different activities.
Braulio tends to his olive groves all year round and also takes charge of extracting the raw material for this oil. It's a single-variety, one hundred percent Arbequina. Translated into plain English, there's only one olive in the picture. No strange blends or Erasmus olives. That detail already sets its character.
Furthermore, the olives are harvested at their peak and taken to the oil mill the same day. There, they are cold-pressed, at a low temperature, like someone carefully watching a cake to ensure its aroma doesn't escape.
This ensures that the oil retains the best of the olive.
Arbequina has an addictive profile. On the nose, it's fruity and clean, with those notes of freshly cut apple and that hint of green banana that wafts through your nose.
On the palate, it's fluid and sweet, sweet in the sense of gentle, without rough edges. It has a mild bitterness and a slight pungency, well integrated, that accompany without overpowering.
That's why it shines raw. On a piece of warm, toasted bread with tomato, I tell you it will fix your breakfast in a flash. On a salad of tender greens or over grilled vegetables, a drizzle at the end elevates the dish without masking the flavor.
It even pairs well with flaked cod and orange, a very traditional combination that I now crave just thinking about it.
Between us, a simple tip to enjoy it even more. Before dipping bread, bring your nose to the plate and look for the apple. Then taste it on its own, a couple of drops on your tongue. You'll notice how it glides and leaves that smooth finish that invites you to repeat.
It's an oil that doesn't compete with food, it accompanies it.
All this aligns with our way of working. Here, every morning, we review orders and go to harvest. The fruit leaves the tree for you. It's our hallmark.
Something similar happens with the oil. We can't harvest olives on demand as we do with oranges, but we can choose people who work like us. Braulio harvests at the right moment and grinds the same day so that the oil arrives fresh and with all its soul. It's that simple.
There are things that aren't visible on the label but are noticeable in the glass. A well-thought-out pruning. An olive tree open to the light. Well-cared-for soil that withstands rain without turning to mud. Clean, low trailers so the olives don't get crushed.
At the mill, patience with the temperature so that the aromas don't evaporate. Everything adds up. And when you taste it, you understand without needing technical words. If you feel like it, try it at home. Smell an anonymous oil and then this one.
You'll see the difference between a flat aroma and one that tells a story.
You asked me what makes it special. Well, that's it. It's an oil with a name and a lineage. It comes from Braulio's olive groves in Ciudad Real.
And behind it are hands that know each tree and a way of working that reminds me of my own fields and those of my colleagues.
The main purpose of Campos del Abuelo remains the same: to bring the best of Spanish agriculture to your home.
But also to meet along the way those who cultivate with respect and love for their work as farmers.
Today, that encounter tastes of Arbequina and toasted bread. I hope you like it as much as we do.
A big hug and until next time,
