Be loyal to your oil

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My friend Apollonia and I have occasional verbal slapfights, as I’ve said. They are usually about something stupid. “How many kinds of vinegar do you have in your kitchen?” she said challengingly.

 

 

“White,” I said. “Apple cider. Wine.  Balsamic. Um -”

 

 

“Where did you get the balsamic?” she shot back.

 

 

“Job Lot,” I said with shame. “Two dollars a pint.”

 

 

“You lose,” she said gloatingly. “By default.”

 

 

“Oil,” I said, hungry for a rematch.

 

“Vegetable,” she began. “Olive oil. Um -”

 

“Ah ha!” I shouted. “Almond oil. Hazelnut oil. Walnut oil. Sesame oil. Olive oil. Corn oil. Safflower oil.”

 

“Oh, fine,” she grumbled. “You win.” She shot me a look. “You better use ’em up, babe. They go rancid, you know.”

 

My mother used Wesson Oil. You could fry an entire loaf of bread in it, per their frequently-aired 1970s commercial. It had precisely no flavor at all. In those days, we didn’t know that oil was supposed to have flavor. We knew about olive oil, but it was foreign and strangely suspect, like hot peppers and curry powder and chow mein noodles.

 

 

Now, of course, we know about the Power Of Oil. This explains the proliferation of exotic oils in my pantry. I use the walnut / hazelnut / almond oils in baking, and they haven’t gone rancid yet, thank you very much Apollonia.

 

But: the other evening, I saw something which blew even my oil-soaked mind.

 

I was buying some pre-dinner items at our local grocery store: torpedo rolls, tortillas, duck sauce, the usual.  While strolling down the International Foods aisle, I spotted a can of something peculiar, and pulled it down from the shelf to see what it was. “The Republic of Tea Stir Fry Tea Oil,” I read. “Cold pressed from 100% pure certified organic tea seeds.”

 

 

Tea oil!

 

 

If it hadn’t been fifteen dollars, I would have bought it on the spot.

 

Apollonia would croak!

 

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