There is an olive in Spain that is barely spoken of outside its own mountains. It is called Serrana de Espadán, and it is native to the Alto Palancia and the Alto Mijares, inland from Castellón, around the Sierra Calderona. Depending on the valley it also goes by Sevillenca, Artanenca or Grossal.
It is not rare by marketing. It is rare because it grows there and almost nowhere else. On a Swiss shelf, Spanish oils usually come from elsewhere: Manzanilla Cacereña from Extremadura, Hojiblanca from Andalusia. This one resembles none of them, for the simplest of reasons — very few people have ever tasted it.
Segorbe, a town of oil mills
Segorbe sits inland, in the Alto Palancia. The town once counted close to eighty oil mills. In one of them, a twentieth-century almazara, the Segorbe Oil Museum opened in 2006 — an interpretation centre awarded the AEMO National First Prize for promoting and spreading olive culture.
Inside that museum is the shop of Belluga Gourmet, run by José Luis Calpe and Teresa Blasco, who introduce themselves as the grandchildren of Luis and Carmen, both farmers. Their collection carries family names: El Abuelo, Claudia, Martín — Serrana de Espadán from centuries-old dry-farmed trees, Koroneiki, and Frantoio from the irrigated land around Segorbe.
Two formats, two uses
We bring in two references. The First bottle, 500 ml of green glass with a white cap: its label reads Serrana de Espadán. And the Selección tin, 250 ml, gold and opaque — a filtered oil in a container that lets no light through.
That opacity is not a styling detail. Light spoils an olive oil faster than heat does. A metal tin protects better than clear glass sitting by a window.
Keeping it, drinking it
Cool and dry, away from heat and light. Once opened, finish it within a few months: olive oil is not wine, it does not improve by waiting.
To really taste it, take the simplest route: raw, on bread, on a tomato, over vegetables straight from the oven. A cooking oil is judged in the pan; an oil like this one is judged on the spoon.
