Speaking of which, while I’m here for a split second, let me just also say this: I use olive oil at a rate that exceeds some people’s consumption of ketchup. Liberally. Thoughtlessly. Often. I have it — a bottle by the stove, a bottle squirreled away in a cabinet for when I run out and don’t get a chance to go shopping (don’t ask), and probably a small cute bottle still clinging to my collection that I’m saving for that time when I want to impress guests or, I don’t know, myself.
But I really didn’t know for the longest time what the true differences were between regular olive oil and the extra virgin stuff. I figured it was just a pretentious term for the same phenomenon. You know, like “artisan water” or “gourmet salt.” Cute. Marketable. Mostly meaningless.
Spoiler: I was wrong.
Olive Oil (a.k.a. The Steadfast Roommate Who Doesn’t Complain in the Morning)
Here’s what I’ve found. When you buy plain “olive oil,” the overwhelming majority of the time it’s a blend. It’s half refined oil — that is, it’s been processed using heat or chemicals — and half virgin or extra virgin oil added back in for flavor.
It’s like adding water to wine. More predictability, less wallop. And really, it isn’t such a bad thing. This stuff has a high smoke point — the temperature at which the oil begins to break down and generate smoke — so it doesn’t freak out and turn pitch black the instant it hits a hot pan. If I’m pan-frying potatoes, roasting chickpeas, or just generally doing something on the threshold of crispy (because I forgot about it for a sec — don’t ask), I rely on regular olive oil. It’s chill.
Extra Virgin Olive Oil: What All the Drama? Maybe. But Worth It.
Then extra virgin olive oil — that’s the good stuff, right? No heat and no chemicals. Just cold-pressed olives, doing what cold-pressed olives do. It’s got flavor. Real, punch-you-in-the-palate flavor. Fruity. Peppery. A bit bitter, in a pleasant way, occasionally. You can guess how much I love it personally.
I first noticed this when I drizzled some over slices of tomato and mozzarella. Same salad I had made a hundred times. But suddenly? The olive oil wasn’t just background music — it was up front and center. Like an entire dish someone turned up too loud.
And here’s the kicker: it is healthy. Antioxidants, nutrients, less acidity. This superfood thing? It’s all true.
So… Extra Virgin vs Olive Oil? That Depends on What You’re Doing
It took me a while to get to this: it’s not a competition. It’s a question of context.
If I’m making a salad or even a last-minute dressing, or if I’m using it as a base for a dip, or if I’m dipping bread into it — extra virgin every time. I’m thirsty for that cool, grassy, slightly spicy taste. It transforms boring things into gourmet.
But if I’m sautéing onions for 15 minutes or cooking bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs until they’re crispy? Absolutely, straight-up olive oil. It’s cheaper, doesn’t drown the dish or give it that metallic undertaste, and I don’t feel like I’m frittering away the good stuff.
Wait, Sunflower Oil?
Okay, random tangent — but relevant. Once, when I realized I had no olive oil and was too lazy to buy more, I tried sunflower oil. And look, it’s not bad. It’s light, it’s neutral, it doesn’t say anything. But… it’s also kind of a snooze? The saltine cracker of oils.
Sure, sunflower oil is fine — it has a higher smoke point, so it will suffice for deep-frying. But flavor-wise? Olive oil wins. Especially extra virgin. You can actually taste it. And not in the faux “essence of something” way — like, it actually changes what you’re eating.
Oh, and health-wise, it’s brimming with monounsaturated fats, antioxidants, all that good Mediterranean-diet stuff. Sunflower oil? Eh. Not so much.
Why I’ll Always Keep Three Bottles in My Kitchen (and at the Very Least Three)
The thing with olive oil is, once you start to recognize the differences, you get interested. Then if you care, you go to the bottom of the rabbit hole.
Now I’ve got:
One bottle (or so) of cheap olive oil to fry in, roast in, keep on the back of the stove.
One high-quality bottle of extra virgin for salads, pasta, fast dips.
And one fancy bottle of extra virgin olive oil that I guard as fiercely as a top-shelf whiskey. Imported, small-batch, came in a bottle that might’ve been mistaken for perfume. Existing in my kitchen, among my other pots and pans and kitchen tools, I only ever reach for it when I want to feel like a TV chef.
Olive Oil = Flavor. Also? It’s Kind of a Show-Off.
Here’s a bit of a wild one for you: I used to bake chocolate chip cookies with olive oil in place of butter. Don’t worry — this was all by design. I saw a food blogger do it and thought, “Why not?”
The result? Rich. Slightly nutty. A little funny on the first bite, and then oddly addictive. That’s olive oil for you. It flips everything on its head, including dessert.
And if you’re going to tell yourself that it’s just for food, think again. I’ve used it as a hair mask. As a lip balm. During a particularly bleak winter, I even started slathering it on my elbows. Worked like a charm. I smelled like pasta but had glowing skin.
Olive Oil Has Personality. Sunflower Oil is Just… Nice
And part of why I love olive oil, particularly the extra virgin stuff, is that it’s more than what it does. It adds something. It has an opinion. You just put it over something and you’re like, “Boom. I’m here. Let’s go.”
Sunflower oil, though? It’s… nice. Polite. Quiet. Not going to make a fuss. And sometimes that’s the point. But if you want depth, richness, some pizzazz? Olive oil’s your MVP.
And Because, Honestly, It’s Kinda Romantic
Cheeseball — or not (it is) — olive oil connects me to something ancient. I think of bumpy dirt roads and sunlight through olive groves, of pressing your own olives by hand and a bottle passed around a wooden table. Each time I put it to use, I feel a bit like I’m enacting a ritual that predates pizza.
There’s something reassuring in that. Familiar, but elevated. And maybe that’s why I keep using it — why I’ll always use it.
Choose plain olive oil when heat is in play. When you want reliability. Save the extra virgin for when flavor really matters — when you want that big, punchy jolt that makes your dish taste like it just came out of a Roman café.
And you know what? Sometimes, every once in a while, pour a little out into your palm and massage it into your cuticles. Just saying.
