(FORTUNE Small Business) – Of all the shorthand symbols of conspicuous consumption, caviar may be the most obvious--and the most enduring. Even in the second century B.C., a jar of sturgeon (the fish whose eggs are caviar) had a value equal to 100 sheep. The stuff was celebrated by the Romans at the height of their power, and Cicero complained about its priceyness. Today there's something about caviar that seems almost cartoonish. Who really eats it, anyway? That little guy with the mustache and top hat from Monopoly?

Throughout the booming 1990s, caviar's popularity actually rose steadily--and quietly--despite soaring prices that stemmed from poachers' depleting sturgeon stocks in Russia and some international trade wrangles. (The latest is an effort to have the rarest sturgeon, the beluga, classified as an endangered species, which would make it illegal to import or export its eggs. Given that the U.S. accounts for about 80% of the world's beluga market, caviar importers are dead-set against it. They have until the end of October to make their case to the Fish and Wildlife Service.)

Apparently, though, a good number of caviar buyers in the bubble years were simply dabblers: As a luxury item, caviar has not enjoyed the mainstreaming that, say, cigars or wine have. It's true that caviar--or, more likely, roe from other fish incorrectly labeled as caviar--pops up more often as an ingredient in high-end restaurant dishes, but the consumption of caviar in its purest form remains the domain of hard-core connoisseurs. All of which ups its potential as a snobbery enabler--and hence my interest in it. If it's rarefied, it must be great, right? I wanted to know.

As noted, true caviar comes only from sturgeon, and it falls into three broad categories: beluga, the most expensive; ossetra, slightly less rare and slightly cheaper; and sevruga, the most widely available. I picked up small jars of each from a local gourmet shop (you can get it online at stores like caviar.pippin.us). As a sort of control roe, I also bought a jar of not-quite-the-real-deal hackleback sturgeon caviar from the Louisiana Caviar Co. (I live in New Orleans.) Next, my girlfriend, E, and I called up another couple who were willing to bear the heavy burden of participating in a caviar taste test.

After some research on the best way to serve it, we laid out a spread of toast points, chives, sour cream, chilled Stolichnaya vodka, and some brut champagne. (I ignored the source that said real caviar fiends plop a dollop on their hand and suck it down--no thanks). You're supposed to ladle out portions with a spoon made of something other than metal, which oxidizes the eggs. We used plastic.

Various sources insisted that even though beluga varieties were the most expensive, they didn't always taste the best. Beluga sturgeon are up to 20 feet long and can weigh as much as 2,500 pounds. They're rare, and their eggs are larger than those of other sturgeon, which explains why a jar of beluga caviar smaller than a can of tuna runs about $240. That's probably less than the cost of 100 sheep, but still, for that kind of dough I figured it simply had to be outstanding.

However, our nonexpert, authority-lacking group clustered around a different favorite--the sevruga, which was about $90 for a slightly smaller jar (1.75 ounces). Caviar's color is an indicator of quality--gray is reportedly superior to black--and of the batches we ate, that held true. The sevruga happened to be the grayest and tasted the best--savory, almost buttery, and not fishy at all. As for the hackleback caviar (about $40 for a 1.5-ounce jar), it fared poorly in our taste test--too salty, which according to the experts means it's inferior stuff.

Did any of us have what takes to be a caviar snob? Not really: As much as we enjoyed the goodies, no one seemed to feel the spark that turns a pleasurable experiment into a full-on, totally unaffordable hobby. It occurred to me that in picking a cheaper caviar as our favorite, we experienced a delightful taste of reverse snobbery. Which is even better than the real kind--and a whole lot cheaper besides.