When was the last time you looked at mayo? Really, truly, looked at it? That slight off-white slap of goop on your sandwich. That globulous mount you're about to dip your fries into because that one friend of yours was from Europe and you've never been good about peer pressure. The cold watery hell that binds a perfectly good shredded cabbage together with onion and carrots, all good, decent vegetables who never hurt a soul.
Sandy Hingston is not okay. He's a man who knows he's wrong, but the iron grip of emulsified oil, egg yolk and vinegar is strong, much like the smell rising from the potato salad that's been sitting in the sun for...hang on, Helen? When did you take that potato salad out of the fridge? I mean, it's still good, right?
Mayonnaise is an marvel of kitchen chemistry, one that should have been left behind in an age where a poor kitchen wench would have to beat the mixture until their arm fell off to achieve the correct consistency. Mayonnaise was not given to us to be put in shelf-stabilized bottles until opened and then refrigerated until we're too scared to check the expiration date. Mayonnaise is a sauce that was made for the Now, not for the Some Day and mixed with Jello.
Put down the mayo, Sandy. Just. It's over. We've killed it.
Long live organic apple cider vinegar.