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Maltês comes from here.

It's from these fertile banks, this wild land, this sun-beaten soil. From this desert in the summer, mix of green-water and mist in the winter. From these shrivelled forests growing on the banks, from which olive trees sprout. From this spotted grove of trees, shelter of wild animals, food source for wild boars and Egyptian mongooses, trails for foxes and lynxes.

It's from this land of holm-oaks, young cork oaks, kermes oaks. From these raw trees used furtively by the borderland peoples to fish, hunt, rest, and escape from the fiery heat. From this river of submerged boats, hidden from view, preserved from the sweltering southerly wind. It is of these wildernesses, with sparse civilisation but rich in everything else.

Maltês is from these lands left untended so that God may provide.


Maltês says that a great olive oil does not come from a single olive grove. It comes from many. Nor is it from a single variety of olives. It's from several.

For this reason, it walks along the Guadiana in search of olive trees and wild olives. It walks the paths, wanders, roams. Among holm-oaks and Egyptian mongooses. With a bag on its back. It collects some here. Prunes some there. Gathering the best it can find to make the world's best olive oil.

It's not yet this one. But, from land to land, from olive oil to olive oil, it's refining its taste and search.


Maltês crossed the Guadiana.

It went through olive groves and wild cork oak forests.

It smelt, pruned, tasted.

It obtained olives of the Arbequina, Picual and Cobrançosa varieties.

It produced an extra virgin olive oil with a fruity, green and fresh flavour.

A nomadic olive oil with a wild soul that, many months and leagues later, is ready to walk onto your plate.


Maltês gets ready to roam onto your table.

Starters, snacks, dishes, pièce de résistance, desserts, Maltês is hungry for them all.

Seasoning your salads. Nestling in your soups. Refining your grilled dishes. Dressing your fish. A dip for your bread. Dripped into your dark chocolate. Snaking through your pastas.

This is not an olive oil for hanging around in the kitchen. Maltês wants a place at the table.

Let yourself go and develop a taste for it.