I was raised in Mississippi, where Southerners have a fondness for big, quirky sandwiches (thank you, Elvis Presley). Despite this, my favorite childhood sandwich stands out not for its ingredients, but for what it lacked. In my younger years, my snack of choice was something that may surprise you—a plain mayonnaise sandwich.
Before we delve into this further, I want to give a shout-out to those who aren’t fans of mayonnaise but have stuck with me so far. For many of you, the mention of “The White Condiment” might make you want to run the other way, so kudos for hanging in there. Stick around, even if you’re not a mayonnaise enthusiast, and let’s explore this topic together. I assure you, there will be plenty of light-hearted teasing and self-mockery involving mayonnaise to keep you entertained. Just a heads-up, I’ll be using words like “slather,” “creamy,” and, of course, “mayonnaise” quite frequently, which might trigger some strong reactions. Feel free to gracefully exit now if you prefer, or take a deep breath, set aside any aversions, and join me on this journey.
The Great Mayo Sandwich Debate
In my household, there is a division. I love mayonnaise while my husband despises it. His distaste for mayo stems from a late-night infomercial featuring a stick blender. I managed to find that very infomercial online, and it’s a gem: the hair, the kitchen, the title treatment! Long story short, the host demonstrates making homemade mayonnaise by filling a jar with oil and an egg, then using the stick blender to whip it into mayo. That night, my future husband was so horrified that he swore off mayonnaise for life.
The Origins Of My Obsession
On the other hand, mayonnaise was a staple in my upbringing, almost like a member of the family. While we didn’t eat it straight out of the jar, we used it generously and in unexpected ways.
As a child, a simple mayonnaise sandwich was a familiar sight: just Sunbeam bread and mayo, no meat, lettuce, or cheese—just mayo.
As an adult, a mayonnaise sandwich resembles a meal where only the mayo and bread showed up. It’s a sandwich that only Kirk Cameron could love.
Although I enjoyed adding other ingredients to my sandwiches—like Kraft singles or occasional sliced bananas—a plain mayonnaise sandwich was quick and oddly satisfying. Two soft slices of Sunbeam, a generous smear of Blue Plate, and I was instantly transported back to the woods picking blackberries.
Which Mayonnaise Brand Is Best?
Let’s briefly discuss mayonnaise brands, particularly Blue Plate and Duke’s Mayonnaise that I adore. However, there’s one brand I firmly believe should disappear from existence: Miracle Whip. If you end up with that on your
One of the defining features of many households is the great condiment divide – the eternal battle between mayonnaise lovers and mayonnaise haters. In some families, this divide runs deep, with strong opinions on both sides. The story goes that in a certain household, there were two individuals: one a skilled cook, the other not so much. And as fate would have it, the one who lacked culinary prowess was the very individual who loved to slap Miracle Whip on sandwiches. The mere thought of it sends shivers down the spine – too tangy, too slick, too sweet. It seems Miracle Whip is just too everything, except for being too good. For those firmly in the pro-mayonnaise camp, the idea of having that “carpet-bagging ‘mayonnaise'” near their sandwich is simply unacceptable.
Interestingly, the birthplace of Duke’s Mayo, Greenville, holds a special place in the heart of mayonnaise aficionados. The tradition of using Duke’s Mayo in recipes is a cherished one, symbolizing a connection to Southern culinary heritage.
The protagonist of this tale finds themselves in a divided household where the spouse’s aversion to mayonnaise, dubbing themselves a member of The MayNo! Caucus, has influenced their own relationship with this creamy condiment. While still a fan of mayonnaise in sandwiches, the protagonist no longer indulges in mayo-only sandwiches or spreads it on saltine crackers, a habit that their father continues despite the health implications. The shift to olive oil mayonnaise has been a compromise, but when it comes to truly savoring a sandwich or creating flavorful recipes like pimiento cheese, nothing quite matches up to the real deal.
The question arises: must everyone love mayonnaise? The protagonist takes a stand, asserting that one can still be Southern without a love for mayonnaise. To the mayo enthusiasts among Southerners, a call for understanding and compassion is made – cease the relentless teasing of those who do not share the same appreciation for “The White Condiment.” Sneak it into dishes discreetly, savoring the devilish act of introducing mayonnaise to the uninitiated. And if ever questioned about the secret ingredient in a dish, a simple “Oh, just a bit of yogurt” suffices.
In the realm of sandwich-making, mayonnaise holds a significant role. Whether it’s slathered on thick or used as a subtle addition, mayo can elevate the flavor profile of various sandwiches. From classic Southern favorites like the Creole Tomato Sandwich and the Pork Chop Sandwich to more innovative creations like the Grilled Cheese with a mayo twist, there’s no denying the versatility of mayonnaise in culinary endeavors.
As the discourse on mayonnaise continues, it becomes evident that personal preferences and regional traditions play a significant role in shaping culinary identities. The love-hate relationship with mayonnaise transcends mere condiment preferences, delving into the realms of family.
