The Food Lab: Better Home Cooking Through Science

clam at their father’s side on Cape Cod, or perhaps the day
they found out that Darth Vader was Luke’s father. Maybe it
was when they learned that playing outside can actually be
more fun than watching He-Man, or when they discovered
that light behaves as both a wave and a particle. For me, it
was the first time I saw mayonnaise being made.‡
When I was a kid, I never once thought about where
mayonnaise came from. I mean, it’s that kind of creamy,
jiggly stuff that comes in a jar with a blue lid, right? I’d
always just assumed it came from . . . some gigantic pump-
action mayonnaise dispenser, perhaps in Wisconsin or
Nebraska, one of those states that to my preadolescent mind
seemed most likely to produce tons of mayo. I remember
the very first time I saw mayonnaise being made. It was
during a late-night infomercial for handheld immersion
blenders (a new technology at the time, and the It kitchen
gadget). The host put an egg in the bottom of a cup, poured
some oil on top, placed the immersion blender in there,
pushed the button, and, within a matter of seconds, the egg
and oil came together into creamy, opaque, white
mayonnaise.
My wife and I have recently been discussing what we’d
like to name our children. She, being South American,
wants our firstborn daughter to have the beautiful Spanish
name Salomé. I told her that she can name our first daughter
Salami as long as I can name my first son Mayonnaise in
honor of my favorite condiment. We’ll see who gives in
first.
As a sandwich spread or sauce, mayonnaise is a big
divider. I used to be firmly on the “death before mayo” side