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At the time of choosing what was to be the label for our wines, we had some things clear and others not so clear.

The name and trade are its signs of identity. They must be in the main place and they must tell what you are going to find when you uncork a bottle.

For the image we were clear that it is a wine that is rooted in its land. It's Castril, it's Sierra, it's border, it's limestone, it's River. Then a suggestion came from a local artist and friend. He handed us a small book: Use the map that was made in 1754 for the Catastro of Ensenada. He was right, everything was there: The Town, the Church, the Castle, the River crossing La Peña, the names that still today are part of our geography: El Angel, La Caveza, Beracruz.

To come full circle look at the crops that surround the drawing of the town. At first we took them for olive trees. It was the logical thing, in Castril what there has always been is olive trees. Was it logical? Always olive grooves?

In the six thousand fanegas of cultivated land that was declared in 1754, not only grape vines are cited, but also a thousand vineyard vines and their product considered to be fourteen arrovas of must [..] Each arrova of must four reales.

Therefore, yes, in Castril the vine was cultivated and wine was made, beyond private consumption, probably until the phylloxera epidemic ended it all up at the end of the 19th century. There we find a push, a wink, a certainty of history towards us, always believing in the roots and the land.

Ultimo Señorito picks up this centuries-old tradition and likes to think that it acts as a bridge with the present.


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