I read the wine posts and the restaurant reviews on this website with envy sometimes. They speak to people who know great wine and great restaurants exist (even if those they speak to can't always afford them). Chefs sometimes don't even know that great olive oil exists.

When someone walks into my store (and, yes, I know I don't own Zingerman's, nor do I even work on the sales floor very often since my stint as a stay-at-home Dad started two years ago; just assume I'm overly possessive of our olive oil collection), my goal is not to sell them olive oil, but to rearrange their vocabulary, to shake them out of hegemonic culinary complacency given to them by Rachel Ray and the Food Network and a life of countless cookbooks that list "olive oil" as an ingredient or shout out "EVO!" in gleeful disregard for its true worth.

Ninety-eight percent of the time I fail, even when someone walks away exclaiming how wonderful the bottle of olive oil in their hand is, better than any other oil they've tasted. Blah. I know they're not going to sneak sips of it while they cook or lick the measuring spoon when they use it. Occasionally, however, I give someone that bug, infecting them so that every six months they'll comb through shelves filled with dross and fleck to find nuggets of palate-transforming gold.

At least in a recipe that requires good cheese or great bacon fat, the words "parmigiano-reggiano" or "lardo" can be explicitly written out. You can't mistakenly buy bad lardo. No other ingredient in the kitchen (with the possible exception of great vinegar) can transform an otherwise so-so meal into a palate-pleasing delight without also dwarfing the other ingredients in the meal. For example, if I take a great cheese like parmigiano-reggiano and grate it on top of Rice-A-Roni, every bite will taste like really good cheese paired with crappy rice and vermicelli. But, if I take a bowl of hot Rice-A-Roni and drizzle a tablespoon of extraordinary olive oil on top, it will smell and taste like the best bowl of Rice-A-Roni you've ever had, and you will probably ask for seconds.

If you want to experience the kitchen-changing pleasure of great olive oil, without having to think about it too much or study or talk to an employee in some random store who probably doesn't know great olive oil either, then scan through the shelves for a bottle with a label that says either "Baux des Provence" (in France) or "Siena" (in Tuscany, Italy). I swear that if you drink it straight from the bottle, you're going to like one of them and you'll probably love both.

Don't buy the one from Baux des Provence unless it has the regulation initials A.O.C. or the phrase "Appellation d'Origine Controlee" prominently on the label; don't buy the one from Siena unless it says "D.O.P" (Denominazione di Origine Protetta). Don't expect to pay less than $30 for a half-liter. Don't buy anything pressed before October of 2008. (Note that these are rules so you don't have to think. If you want to think, then it's going to get a little more complex, i.e. future blog posts.)

Now, try it on bread if you want, but if you want to be in heaven, then boil some pasta. Put it on a plate. Sprinkle some salt (non-iodized). Drizzle oil. Smell. Eat. I dare you not to have a second helping.