Myself, the Greek Yiayia (Grandmother in Greek) Despina, the magical Omorfiá (Beef Tallow) tin, and the giant Mount Olympus at the back, "the home of Olympian gods" according to ancient Greek mythology accounts.

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It began with cracked skin and a mountain whisper.

 

One winter, I found myself hiking the frostbitten trails of Mount Olympus in Greece. The air was sharp, the winds merciless—and my skin? Parched, tight, and splitting with every step. As the ancient trees swayed and the sky grew heavy, I stumbled into a remote village cradled in the hills. There, like something out of myth, stood a humble stone house.

From it emerged a yiayia—her face weathered by time but glowing with a strange, soft radiance.

She took one look at me and smiled knowingly. Without a word, she handed me a tiny, spill-like jar filled with a golden balm. “Tallow,” she said in her thick Greek melodic accent, “from grass-fed beef cattle, as our ancestors used.

The Minotaur was said to guard this secret. I laughed—until I felt it on my skin. It soaked in like sunlight on cold marble. 

The sting, the dryness—it vanished. In hours, my skin looked alive again.

That night, she told me tales by the fire: how ancient Greeks used this sacred fat to protect their skin from the gods’ wrath—the wind, the sea, the sun.

They believed the power of the Minotaur—half-beast, half-divine—was sealed in it. I threw away every synthetic cream I brought from home. I didn’t need them anymore. I had something better. Wilder. Real.

That’s how Omorfiá was born—named after the Greek word for beauty, forged from myth and memory, and crafted from the same pristine, grass-fed tallow passed down for millennia.

This isn't just skincare. It’s a journey back to the roots.

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