Frantoio di Val d'Orcia
Three generations have pressed olives on this same hillside, in a mill built directly into the family's cellar. The trees are old enough that no one in the family can say exactly when they were planted — only that they were already producing when the current owner's grandfather took over.
Cold-pressed within hours of picking, the Val d'Orcia oil is the house's benchmark: grassy, green, with a peppery finish that catches in the back of the throat. It's the oil we reach for on anything simple — good bread, a plain salad, a bowl of white beans.
Tenuta San Biagio
San Biagio sits high enough in the Assisi hills that the nights stay cold well into the harvest — which is exactly why the oil comes out so bold. Altitude stresses the olives just enough to concentrate the bitterness and pepper that mark a genuinely robust Umbrian style.
This is the oil for anyone who thinks olive oil is supposed to announce itself: char-grilled vegetables, bitter greens, a steak that needs something sharp cutting through it. It's not a subtle bottle, and it was never meant to be.
Masseria Calvello
A working masseria in the Valle d'Itria, farming organically since 2009 across groves old enough that some of the trunks have grown hollow with age and kept producing anyway. Puglia grows more olives than anywhere else in Italy, but Calvello stays small on purpose — a few hundred trees, harvested by hand.
The result is buttery and mild, low on bitterness, the kind of everyday oil you don't think twice about reaching for. It's become the house's table oil — the one that goes on everything, because it never fights with what it's poured over.
Baglio San Vito
The newest estate in the house, and the only one on the coast — a baglio (the old Sicilian word for a walled farm estate) set on windswept groves near the western tip of the island, close enough to the water that the trees grow bent from the salt air. The olives ripen under near-constant sea breeze rather than the stillness of the other three estates' hill country.
That exposure shows up in the oil: vibrant and aromatic rather than grassy or bold, with notes of green almond and tomato leaf that the house's other oils don't have. It's the one we reach for raw — over a salad, a piece of grilled fish, straight onto good bread — not for cooking, where its character would only get lost.