Mayonnaise, a miracle of chemistry in my view – the amazing suspension of oil, the perfect amalgamation of disparate ingredients, the balance of unctuousness and tang, the awe-inspiring versatility of eggs – is a food whose invention I find boggling.
My friend Barbara was raised by parents who were depression era kids. Waste not, want not. Use it up, wear it out, make it do, do without. Sigh. When the mayonnaise jar had just a thin coating remaining, a coating that could not be coaxed out, Barbara’s father added a bit of water, replaced the lid and shook hard. Barbara thought, “Ugh Dad, I don’t want that old watery mayonnaise on my sandwich”.
I am so grateful that my mother never thought of that water trick – it surprises me that she didn’t – although she did have a special rubber spatula that was very thin, with a rubber scraper that ran horizontal rather than vertical, specially engineered for a mayonnaise jar.
Every sandwich needs lubrication and often mayonnaise is the perfect candidate. Plus, it can be delicious if you make it yourself or buy one that is tasty (and not low-fat). Still and all, I know lots of people who think mayonnaise is plain disgusting. Personally, I love it, not in heaps and not slathered on pizza as I saw it in Sweden, no not like that, but just spread generously enough to slip into any holes and to squeeze out a tiny bit when pressed.
According to my very casual poll, southerners seem to feel more generally friendly towards mayonnaise than northerners. And they expect a bit of sweetness in their mayonnaise. Apparently it is required on tomato sandwiches.
A native of Atlanta, writer Linda Kulman has this to say,
“I’m pro mayo all the way, baby. It makes the tomato sandwich what it is (open face slice of white bread, mayo, slice of tomato large enough to cover the bread, salt & pepper). Maybe it’s the hint of sweetness it adds, or maybe it’s simply because mayo is such a guilty pleasure–nothing good can come of it health-wise, I’m quite sure. It’s also THE single most important sandwich lubricant. You can’t have a ham sandwich on dry bread, and to me, mustard without mayo is too sharp (again that sweetness). So I like them together.
The only exception to the mustard-mayo combo is Durkee’s, a spread that kind of takes the place of both. But it’s hard to find outside the South”.
I beg to differ on the health-wise part. Good for you? Eggs? Yes. Olive oil or vegetable oil? Yes. Lemon juice? Yes. Anything after that is your personal responsibility, as the only actual requirements for creating mayonnaise are eggs, oil, lemon, salt and pepper. A bit of Dijon is good in there too, and does you no harm.
Linda mentions the hint of sweetness which I believe is a southern thing, but don’t quote me on that. My sister Clare hates mayonnaise because it is sweet. The only thing is, mayonnaise shouldn’t be sweet. In fact, it generally isn’t, is it? Isn’t that the purview of “salad dressing” aka Miracle Whip?
Okay, you don’t like mayonnaise. Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure? It must be a texture thing. That’s what Dana Pulley says, making an ick face when she thinks about mayonnaise.
“Maybe it is the raw eggs part of it and maybe there is actually an allergy involved (you probably know that cooking eggs changes the protein and so you don’t have the same kind of reaction.) My mom also thought maybe it was because she is from the north. When I do have it in like tuna or chicken salad, I can take it if it only a small amount. But if it is really creamy it makes me gag, I can’t eat it. I have been known to have a melt down because I asked for no mayo on a burger and brought it home and it was on there. I have to take napkins and wipe it off everything and then scrape the buns…:)”
Tuna salad gets a pass from everyone. Even the most adamant mayonnaise detractor will eat it in tuna salad. Moderation though, is key. “I hate it when delis put too much mayo on tuna or egg salad. Then it’s the devil”, says Janie Barnett.
Some in this camp extend their tolerance to potato salad and BLT’s. No one wants it on an Italian sub and no one wants it in excess.
From what I can discern, Jews disdain mayonnaise almost completely. Now this is almost pure conjecture on my part, but it is substantiated by Mimi Harrison who writes,
I don’t really understand the Jewish antipathy for mayonnaise, but it’s definitely real. Mayo is somehow associated with white-bread Protestant neutrality and blandness of taste. (Cue the famous scene in Annie Hall when she and Alvie Singer are at the deli and she orders corned beef on white with mayo. That’s supposed to be a huge laugh.) When I was a small child, there was a TV show called the Kraft Music Hall, whose commercials always featured a different recipe using Kraft products. There was always one making something with Kraft Miracle Whip and things like mini-marshmallows, celery, and other dainties. My grandmother always called those dishes “mooshy dreck,” which, if you know any Yiddish at all, sort of translates into “diarrhea.”
Oh ack, that puts me off it too, although, in defense of mayonnaise it is NOT Miracle Whip. At all.
Large jars are problematic as well. Even mayonnaise devotees don’t want to think about it sitting around getting icky. “Their is something repulsive about a 9/10’s empty jar of mayonnaise”, says Joan Lynch. Jim Siebert backs that outlook with these words, “Mayo that sits around too long gives me the heebee jeebees.” Jim’s motto? “Fresh Hellman’s in small jars”.
Miriam Rubin puts it succinctly for those like me who love mayonnaise, “What else would you put on a tomato sandwich?” Exactly.
The Lunch Encounter 