Oil.

This looks good to me now.
Iberia has changed me.

Cheese and olive oil. It's like the inbreeding of cholesterol. You know it is especially good when a fat crust halo hovers above your food. It's like a challenge. When the food you want to eat has a visible reminder of martyrdom.

But, O, to go down in such a blaze of olivey glory.

At a restaurant with Lucy we got our mandatory fake 'free' bread with our food. And I looked at it in disgust. How am I supposed to eat bread without olive oil? What the hell do you think you are doing waiter man? Are you mad? Are you loco? I may be foreign but I ain't no fool. Bring me my goddam oil! I know my rights.

Sadly though, on that particular day, I forgot the word for olive oil. Like water from olives. The water from olives! Please, please senor! Where is the water from olives? And while I did say all this in Spanish, (I learn languages at a hyperbolic rate because it's pretty likely that I am the smartest person in the world) the waiter looked at me like he'd never heard anyone ask for olive water before. When he figured it out he surlily (yes, that's a word) gushed olive oil over essentially everything we had. And I said, that's right. You pour that oil senor.

I'm now considering beginning ordering olive oil before food and drink. Don't want to get screwed over again. Time spent without olive oil is wasted time my friends.