I’ve been harshly ridiculed for many years by my friends for enjoying mayo. Maybe enjoying is an understatement. It’s good on literally everything. Everything. I’m sitting, writing this, dipping chips into a healthy dollop of the world’s most controversial sauce. I’m sure that disgusts at least half of you.
But the ridicule has finally reached a breaking point. After dousing my chippy chips in mayonnaise, I received concerned and judgmental looks from my friends: ‘Gross!’ they said, ‘What are you thinking?’ they said. I couldn’t hear them after I squeezed the last of the sauce from the bottle, horrible squirting sound and all. But their proclamations made me think, am I the only one who will have mayonnaise on almost anything?
I don’t even like eggs, and if I think about mayo for too long, I begin to feel sick. But ignorance is bliss, and in my ambivalence, the mayo jar in my fridge is emptied quicker than any other condiment. The ketchup, mustard, and sriracha all look sad and full and ready to be used, but I can’t help it.
The aversion to mayo my friends have seems to be shared by lots of uncultured idiots on the internet. I’ll happily admit that on paper it sounds absolutely disgusting; a creamy emulsion made primarily from oil and egg yolks, but it can’t be compared. How could it? Its filling, creamy taste is astonishing, ethereal, incomparable, or another big word to prove my point.
Gen-Z’s mixed opinions of the eggy elixir have both disgusted and fascinated me. Why is this sauce so contentious, and how can I convince the masses of its eggy glory? Strap in, it’s time for some real journalism.
A brief history.
Mayonnaise’s origins are hard to trace. There are many theories for how exactly it came about. Some hypothesize that the early origins of mayonnaise go as far back as ancient Egyptian times. However, in the late 1700s, French chefs perfected what we now affectionately call mayo, in its ultimate form, combining the aforementioned ingredients to create the ultimate, perfectly succulent sauce.
The sauce also allegedly gets its name from a war that broke out. According to the tale, mayonnaise traces its name back to Mahón on the island of Menorca, itself said to be founded by Mago Barca, brother of the legendary Hannibal of the Second Punic War. In that telling, the same conflict that saw elephants crossing the Alps also indirectly gave us the creamy condiment we casually spread on sandwiches or dunk our fries into.
Who’s truly to say, but the contentious history of its past indirectly predicted opinions of the sauce in our present.
Mayo’s insemination in American cuisine is notable too, defining the sauce in the early 20th century. What was once considered a high-class pairing to Caesar salads became a household staple regardless of class. It was massively popularised by Hellman’s in the 1920s, whose branding cemented it as a signature condiment of the American diet. Today, mayonnaise is estimated to be in 75% of households throughout the continental USA. Amazing, huh?
It is everywhere, and I’m sitting in the front seat driving the imaginary band wagon.
Versatility.
Maybe that’s where the differences began. The unlimited uses of mayonnaise did it no favours, classing it in the same category as Marmite: some people like it, and some people hate it (and some people like me love it).
I would happily spend the entire article rambling about how mayonnaise has defined my palate and fills me with cholestrolic lust and joy whenever I layer it on French fries, sandwiches, pasta, and everything else.
But I can briefly advocate for its versatility among the sauces. Unlike its peers, mayonnaise can be tastefully paired with other sauces.
Mayonnaise falls under the category of ‘mother sauce,’ and can be used as a palette to create other sauces. Though mayo isn’t thought of as one of the five original mother sauces, its components and makeup make it as versatile as the other five: béchamel, velouté, espagnole, tomato, and hollandaise (fancy mayo).
Mayonnaise is a key component in many types of common sauces. A hidden culinary chameleon: mix in pickles for tartar sauce, garlic and lemon for aioli, ketchup for fry sauce, or sriracha for a spicy kick. One base, endless reinventions.
There are stark differences in mayo in different parts of the world. Japanese (or Kewpie) mayonnaise is, from what my experienced taste buds have discerned, a noticeably richer, tangier, and more umami-driven type of mayo. It’s made with only egg yolks (rather than whole eggs) and uses a blend of vinegars for added depth and complexity. Though I don’t think it holds a candle to American staple Hellman’s, it is just as brimming with quality.
I’d like to take a page out of the Netherlands’ book, too. They douse their chips in a fattier version of mayo, known colloquially as frietsaus. I was lucky enough to try the sauce (and ask for extra) when I visited Amsterdam a few years ago. Made with 25% more fat, the sauce induced me into a greasy heaven-bound coma.
Gen-Z’s Disgust.
The mayonnaise-hostile world we live in is hard to navigate. It feels like there are many extreme opinions about mayonnaise. The fear of mayonnaise is so prevalent that it is listed as a genuine phobia: magionezaphobia.
Comparatively, some people’s love is so deep that they’ve forever tattooed their preferred mayonnaise brand. Hellmann’s shared this after an unnamed mayonnaise patriot showed their everlasting love for the sauce.
That said, on the other side of the proverbial fence, some people are abhorrently against the sauce. Many magionezaphobes exist in the modern youth culture. Poor, ignorant souls.
I’d consider these people ketchup/mustard normies. The concept of eggs as sauce scares them to no end. The adventurous nature of those who will use mayo on absolutely anything is awe-inspiring to me. I’m not here to pick on the haters, though, sorry.
The ‘egg ick’ that has rapidly trended in the past few years feels like a deeper reflection of people’s dislike of its condiment counterpart. The phenomenon explains why people enjoy eating eggs, yet feel disgusted when they really think about what they’re eating.
I think mayonnaise has this quality too. If I tuck into a meal and drown it in my favourite sauce, I need to maintain a healthy distance from the amount of eggy oil I am consuming.
It pains me to admit this, but this icky sentiment might explain why some aren’t brave enough to try the sauce. It isn’t for everyone!
Sometimes it’s a little much
I’ll admit, if I haven’t already, that mayonnaise sounds absolutely disgusting.
Gen Z’s egg ick makes sense. Even some of my peers, fellow enjoyers of the sauce, take it too far.
I was inspired by a Vice article to write this. Writer Manisha Krishnan feels like the unelected head of the mayonnaise appreciation society, who starts her article in the defence of mayonnaise, saying she likes the creamy sauce on hot dogs. Even this is a stretch too far for me, but her ending sentiment feels poetic, and at the core of our ethos—“Put mayo wherever the hell you want—some people even use it for hair masks and facials.”
This love for the sauce feels extreme. Even I, writing this article to say otherwise, can see how mayo doesn’t contend well with some foods.
Gourmet journalist Adam Roberts likens mayonnaise on sandwiches to “bland and creamy on top of something bland and mushy. Like wearing a beige sweater in front of a beige wall.”
It hurts me that we can’t live in a world where people like mayonnaise like they like ketchup. It can’t stand among its competition of universally tolerated condiments; it’s simply too polarizing.
Mayo has no place on some plates, among some palettes.
Verdict.
You made it to the end. Sorry.
My unapologetic defence of mayonnaise might not have swung you over to my side, but that’s okay. There are many foods I can’t stomach for similar reasons: carrots, peas, brussels sprouts, broccoli, etc (I’m noticing a trend).
My bowl of chips is done, and now I’m staring at the massive mayo chunk on the side of my plate. Maybe I’ll scrape the remnants into the bin. Or I’ll lick it off when you aren’t looking. If I haven’t changed your mind, I’m sure that disgusts you. Haha!
