Today I’d like to take a moment to introduce you to my new Rating System. If a product or service or whatever scores in the 99th percentile or above (as arbitrarily decided by me), it then receives a J rating. Get it… J? So you might ask me, “Hey Jay, what did you think of that movie last night?” to which I might respond, “Yo, Hoss, I give it a J.” This, of course, means that the movie was exceptional, that no amount of Oscars could possibly do it justice. Or I might not answer you, which means that I have not given it a J rating, which means that it falls somewhere between mediocre and ghastly, or, in other words, it falls somewhere in the bottom 99 percent of movies.

I can apply this simple rating system to everything from restaurant experiences to canned ham. However, I refuse to promote non J rating earners here, so I will tend to dwell on the positive. Today I retroactively assign my J rating to Salsa Valentina, about which I wrote a few weeks prior. I also welcome a new member to the J club: Herdade do Esporão Extra Virgin Olive Oil.

Olive oil can have many negative traits, and we, ever the good consumers, have learned to love most of them. Does it taste like burnt almonds and burn your throat? That’s the sign of quality. NOT. That’s the sign that an export company sent us some oil nobody in Europe would touch with a ten foot pole.

Olive oil should taste like olives. Period. In can taste like unripe olives or overripe olives, but if it’s made from olives and it’s fresh (a key detail), it seems likely that it should reflect its olive origins somewhere in there. And Portugal does a fantastic job of harvesting, bottling and getting it fresh to the consumer. At least that’s been my experience. Italy, on the other hand, well, not so much.

So welcome to this elite fraternity, Herdade do Esporão, but beware the hazing.