Mayonnaise Vignette

Mayonnaise: the cringiest of condiments. A squirt of ketchup, a spreading of relish, but a glob of mayo. Its power is undeniable, though. It takes a burger to a different level. The step up from a Big Mac to a Whopper is more of a climb, best likened to rungs on a ladder: straight up, quickly doubled and doubled again. It’s the mayonnaise that does it. The rest is a distraction, a battle of proportion. Mayonnaise is the more special special-sauce. Burger King’s fries are better too. Why would anyone eat at McDonald’s?

At lunchtime, we lined up ingredients—ham, cheese, pickles, mustard, rolls. “You don’t want any mayo do you dad? It seems like something that would gross you out.”

“Sure I do. I’ll have the vegan.” Eli’s right, Hellman’s original makes me gag. The fat corpuscles are practically visible to the eye. A few years ago, I went vegan for thirty-six hours. Ill conceived, I live on pizza. But the first and only vegan meal I made, spicy roasted cauliflower, called for mayonnaise. I got a jar of the vegan stuff. A couple of days later, I was eating eggs and fish again, but vegan mayo was a hit. It’s all I buy now. Susan still buys the normal stuff, only low-fat.

“Eww, the low-fat mayo is turning black.” Eli flipped the jar over and showed me the stuff on the bottom. I think gray might have been a better description, but I got his point. It looked gross. How old was that mayo anyway? Someone might use a glob every four or five weeks to dress a sandwich. A jar might last a year. Eli stuck his nose all the way inside the jar like a wine connoisseur sampling a chardonnay. “It smells like eggs! I’m going with the vegan.”

 “Good idea, no eggs in the vegan.” Plus, nothing to go bad, just oil, salt and vinegar, and of course some modified potato starch, but that’s not food, right? 

“Ugh, the vegan smells like eggs too.”

“I think it’s supposed to. Why would oil smell like eggs if it wasn’t intentional?”

A flurry of hands grabbed at ingredients. An unchoreographed dance of cooperation and sharing. “Can you pass the pickled peppers?”

“The ones that Peter Piper picked?”

Susan vacated the kitchen while we made lunch. Once we shut up and started eating, she came in and fixed a smoothie. Hold the mayo!

Photo by Sara Cervera on Unsplash

18 thoughts on “Mayonnaise Vignette

  1. What a coincidence; just got out my blender, soy milk, canola oil, apple cider vinegar and salt. I’ll have a quart of mayo in five minutes. No, it does not smell like eggs.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I see that you are becoming a food writer, too. And an engaging one at that.

    I love this post, even though it reminds me of my shame at love-love-loving mayonnaise. I can’t help myself. I’ve tried the alternatives, but I keep coming back to Hellman’s or Duke’s. I went vegan once, for three months, and I used hummus as a substitute then. But (feeling ashamed again), I’m back to the eggy blend that I can’t resist.

    Liked by 1 person

    • It makes sense to wrote about food. I write about my life and I eat all the time. I’m surprised I don’t write about it more. Probably the only time I eat ‘real’ mayonnaise is when I get a burger at a restaurant.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I love mayo. But I’ve recently discovered Kewpie mayo, a Japanese mayo that is just a bit more tart. I now exclusively use that… Delicious.
    I’m always a bit blown away/grossed out when I see how mayo is made though.

    Like

  4. Jeff, I love that you can simultaneously acknowledge the cringe factor inherent to mayo and its absolute deliciousness. And I laughed out loud at this line: “A few years ago, I went vegan for thirty-six hours. Ill conceived, I live on pizza.” Great post : )

    Like

Leave a reply to crustytuna Cancel reply